His Dream Of Skyland  One: How High The Moon
by Rasputin Zero
Summary: June, 1940. Two Mongolian villagers stumble upon a strange child from distant Tibet, who brings fresh air into their moribund lives. But a sudden attack by an obsessed Japanese officer begins an adventure for them all, through a China wracked by war. AU.
1. Pt 1 Ch 1: Nirmanakaya

_The seafarers tell of the Eastern Isle of Bliss,  
It is lost in a wilderness of misty sea waves.  
But the Sky-land of the south, the Yueh-landers say,  
May be seen through cracks of the glimmering cloud.  
This land of the sky stretches across the leagues of heaven;  
It rises above the Five Mountains and towers over the Scarlet Castle, _

_While, as if staggering before it, the Tien-tai Peak  
Of forty-eight thousand feet leans toward the southeast._

_So, longing to dream of the southlands of Wu and Yueh,  
I flew across the Mirror Lake one night under the moon._

_The moon in the lake followed my flight,  
Followed me to the town of Yen-chi.  
Here still stands the mansion of Prince Hsieh.  
I saw the green waters curl and heard the monkeys' shrill cries.  
I climbed, putting on the clogs of the prince,  
Skyward on a ladder of clouds,  
And half-way up from the sky-wall I saw the morning sun,  
And heard the heaven's cock crowing in the mid-air.  
Now among a thousand precipices my way wound round and round;  
Flowers choked the path; I leaned against a rock; I swooned._

_Roaring bears and howling dragons roused me—  
Oh, the clamorous waters of the rapids!  
I trembled in the deep forest, and shuddered at the overhanging crags,  
one heaped upon another.  
Clouds on clouds gathered above, threatening rain;  
The waters gushed below, breaking into mist._

_A peal of blasting thunder!  
The mountains crumbled.  
The stone gate of the hollow heaven  
Opened wide, revealing  
A vasty realm of azure without bottom,  
Sun and moon shining together on gold and silver palaces._

_Clad in rainbow and riding on the wind,  
The ladies of the air descended like flower, flakes;  
The faery lords trooping in, they were thick as hemp-stalks in the fields.  
Phoenix birds circled their cars, and panthers played upon harps.  
Bewilderment filled me, and terror seized on my heart.  
I lifted myself in amazement, and alas!  
I woke and found my bed and pillow—  
Gone was the radiant world of gossamer._

_So with all pleasures of life.  
All things pass with the east-flowing water.  
I leave you and go—when shall I return?  
Let the white roe feed at will among the green crags,  
Let me ride and visit the lovely mountains!  
How can I stoop obsequiously and serve the mighty ones!  
It stifles my soul._

'_His Dream Of Skyland'_, Li Po (701-762AD)

* * *

Time disappeared.

The seconds and the hours bled into each other. He couldn't tell them apart. It was as meaningless as forwards and backwards, light and dark, hot and cold. When he could move, it felt no different from lying still. When he had sight, the snow-covered mountain was no different from the blizzard-filled sky. When he could feel, the cold breeze burned him. His dreams were no different from his waking. All he had to go on was himself. His own meagre signpost of a personality that could barely keep its memories in order. The mountain and the sky worked together to blast what remnants remained of his being. For all he knew, they were gone already. Time had vanished, after all. He felt capable of skipping ahead and getting to the end of the process. Anything would have been better than this.

All of a sudden, his skin felt aflame. Warm, fur-covered fingers clasped around his frail body. Gloomy figures shuffled through the brightness...or was it bright figures shuffling through the gloom? Whatever way round it was, he felt gravity at once reasserting itself on his senses and lifting, as his body left the ground in the arms of the things that had approached him. Sound and vision swirled in chaotic eddies and currents, and the only moment when he could hear the wind howling was when another sound emerged. A soothing sound, indecipherable to his ears, but it was a sound of human lips. A sound he thought he'd never hear again. A furry palm padded his forehead, and the girl's voice soothed, bringing the boy back to the world of the living.

Time re-emerged, and the boy snuggled inside it like a warm blanket. The figures trampled through the blizzard, crunching the snowy mountain, and the boy felt happier than he'd ever been. His senses returned, and he finally knew now whether he was awake or dreaming. Realising his eyes were barely open, he gleefully closed them, cradling into the arms of his carrier and dreaming of home. The roof of the world. The door to heaven. The land of everlasting sky.

Time disappeared again, but that was alright. He knew he could get it straight back.

* * *

Something had changed in the bandwidth. Something new had emerged. They were close, he could feel it. Agonisingly close. He had been searching for so long that he could feel the shifting fortunes and mutating opportunities like a sixth sense. The signal had been faint and weak ever since they'd started searching, so it was only with back-breaking effort that they'd narrowed it down to even this hundred-mile range. But as his young lieutenant hunched over the equipment, huddled in the corner of the vehicle that encase them, pressing switches and tuning knobs, he could feel a change. A burst of activity from the convoluted electronics, a scramble of signals, a swirl of graphs. Something had come alive, and he knew what it could only be.

The young spectacle-wearing soldier spun around excitedly, taking his head-phones off to address his superior, "Shosa-sama! Kiite kudasai!" He had entreated the commander to listen, but the humourless teenager could already tell what it was he was listening to. The commander ducked over to listen more closely.

"Sore wa doko?" he asked for the signal's origin tersely and determinedly, eyes fixed on the swerving and shifting electronic graphs. The soldier spun back to his desk and hurriedly triangulated the pattern he was picking up. Mere seconds later he held a piece of notepaper towards the stern teenage commander, on which was scribbled a list of co-ordinates. The commander narrowed a scarred eye at the pencilled numbers. Having followed traces and dead-ends for years in search of the signal's origin, he had learnt to tell instinctively what the numbers meant without needing to look at any map. The commander tapped on the side of the driver's compartment, shocking the man in front awake with his instructions, "watashitachi wa hoku ni ike."

The driver pinched himself awake and uttered a guttural "hai!" before starting the vehicle. A loud rumble coursed through the armour, and the engine revved into gear, preparing to embark on the journey north. The young commander squeezed back through the car's narrow spaces as he grabbed onto the small ladder that led out into the cool morning air. He paused as he heard an irritated groan from the back of the car, a large figure squished into the confined space whose nap his activity was interrupting. The commander was almost reluctant to have awoken his uncle in such a fashion, but the mission came first, and nothing was going to get in its way...not even his uncle's desire for a good night's sleep.

The officer popped his head through the porthole and yelled commandingly at the small flotilla of trucks that constituted his unit. Some had awoken at the sound of the armoured car starting up, but the commander's voice got everyone's attention, "watashitachi wa hoku ni ike! Shitagaimasu!" The darkened muddy roadside rumbled with vehicles braying and moaning, and soldiers started from their slumber to leap aboard their canvas-covered trucks. The teenage commander squinted his scarred eye again, this time down the tree-lined road towards his destination.

Soon, he repeated in his head over and over again, as the armoured car surged forward. Soon he would find that elusive prize, the source of the tear in time and space he and his predecessors had been tracking for half a century, the greatest prize his nation could ever grasp. And soon, above all these lofty ideals, he would be able to go home.

* * *

"Sain bainuu?"

The gentle sound led the boy out of unconsciousness like smelling salt wafted under his nose. His eyes crept open, no longer buried under the white fluff of blizzard and ice but looking into the fuzzy, warm face of someone above him. He felt warm and enclosed, and flickering orange shapes danced across the dark thatched ceiling. The fuzzy shape drew into focus, and the dark-skinned face became topped with black hair, and grew a pair blue eyes and a wary, honest smile. The young girl focused on him and asked again in that soothing voice of hers, "sain bainuu?"

He realised she was asking how he felt, and nestled deep inside a warm, furry blanket with a beautiful girl watching over him, only one answer came to mind. He whispered the first word he'd spoken in what felt like days, "...wonderful..."

The girl's eyes lit up and her smile drew wider, as she looked excitedly up at someone else in the dark room, calling "Sokka! He's awake!"

"You don't say?" grumbled the surly, sarcastic teen, similarly dark-skinned and leaning up next to the hearth in which a small fire crackled, arms crossed, "is he well enough to get up yet? I don't want to go to bed tonight and find that bald-headed freak still in it."

The girl rolled her eyes and looked back down at the boy curled up in bed. The bald-headed boy had noticed the both of them were wearing felt clothing, practical wear, with a length of cloth wrapped around their waists. From his position he could see Sokka was wearing trousers and boots, and guessed she was wearing the same kind of attire. It wasn't like the sort of clothing he thought people wore around these parts. The girl smiled again, "don't listen to my brother, you can take as long as you want. You had a bad case of hypothermia from that blizzard..."

"Katara, I know you'd feel sorry for Siberian Tigers with stubbed toes, but far as I'm concerned, soon as he's got his eyes open and ain't speaking in tongues, our responsibility _ends_," Sokka asserted to the girl's chagrin, "we need to know what he was doing in the Khingan Mountains. If he was up to trouble, molly-coddling him ain't gonna make him open up!"

"Sure, Sokka, be a jerk, it makes you look _real _mature," Katara argued back, starting a cross-fire that the boy wasn't too comfortable with, "if he goes and relapses I doubt you'd be able to 'interrogate' the poor boy much..."

"Actually, I feel great!" the boy decided to end the argument by pushing the covers aside and getting up, swivelling his legs around to hang off the side of the bed. He planted his hands on the edge of the mattress, looked at Katara and beamed, "it's something I'm good at. I can _rebound _real fast...literally! Throw me at something and I'll bounce straight back, usually. Sometimes I think I'm made of rubber..."

The boy looked down at his outstretched fingers thoughtfully. That entire chain of thought emerged wholesale from the depths of his brain without censure, modification or oversight. After a shocked moment from the siblings, Katara fell into a small fit of giggles. Holding a hand to her mouth to keep the laughter in, it was left to Sokka to drain all humour from the situation, "he's got bigger issues than frostbite, by the looks of it."

Katara gulped down her giggles to sit down next to the boy. The excitable and honest twelve year old had not a single blade of hair on his scalp, and was still largely undressed, his practical furry clothing having been soaked through with melted ice. There was something about him, a strange aura of...completeness, like the room revolved around him in some way. She spoke, "anyway, I'm Katara Hakodaya and that bundle of nerves in the corner is my brother Sokka Hakoday."

"Typical," Sokka scoffed, "I stick my neck out day after day looking after this place and all I get is _abuse_."

"_I _think you're doing a good job!" the boy grinned as he shrugged, "must've taken some eagle eyes to spot me in those mountains. I'm Aang, by the way. Aang Anil."

"What a weird name!" Katara expressed in pleased surprise, "so! 'Aang Anil'. What do you want to know first? You must have a lot of questions..."

"Yeah...I got one," Aang pointed a finger up to ask his first question, "how come you're all talking in Mongolian?"

The question wiped the expression from both the Hakodays' faces. What at first seemed to be straightforward rescue of a wayward/spying child in the mountains (depending on their point of view) in that instant became significantly more complex. Sokka ventured first into the minefield he just knew he was never going to come out of again, "maybe...cuz...we're in _Mongolia_? Where did you think we were?"

Aang was momentarily stunned himself, coming over with the same feeling that had infected the Hakoday siblings. Something weird was going on, as he knew that last time he checked he was supposed to be in "Tibet!"

The levels of confusion in Sokka multiplied to skyscraper levels, but the magical word cut through Katara's confusion like butter as she leaned forward with a glimmer in her eyes and enthused "you come from Tibet!?"

Sokka groaned and turned aside, "aw _man_! We'll never hear the end of it now!"

Katara pulled back and turned aside to glare at Sokka incredulously, asking "what's that supposed to mean?"

"So...just to make sure we're on the same page here..." Sokka ignored his sister's irritation, "you thought you were in _Tibet_?"

"Yeah!" Aang uttered in surprise, "I was walking through the Himalayas! I...I got kinda lost and...then I got tired. Next thing I knew, I was here."

Sokka looked over the boy suspiciously. He didn't believe a word of it. The Himalayas were a long way from the Khingans, and no one could collapse in one and just 'wake up' in the other. And if his story was impossible, then there were many more probable explanations, any one of which would require him to escort Aang to the nearest output in hand-cuffs. But Katara was still spell-bound, and asked eagerly "what do you do in Tibet!?"

"Oh...uh...heheh...not much!" Aang blushed, "mostly 'cuz I'm hardly ever in Tibet. I do a lot of travelling around! I been _all _over the place. It's a thing my...family does."

"Is that why you know Mongolian?" Katara relaxed into the bed, eager to lap up whatever nuggets of information this strange boy left behind.

"Yeah!" Aang perked up, "I've been from one end of Asia to the other. From the highland rainforests of Ceylon to the river valleys of Hokkaido."

"Where're _those_?" Katara was enraptured. Sokka's eyes were wandering off to the walls in boredom.

"Ceylon's off the coast of Southern India. They got these people, the Tamils, who have this really, really ancient vegetarian diet. Not 'cuz of principle or anything, it just turned out that way. _Delicious _stuff..." Aang was enjoying how this girl was lapping up his stories, "and Hokkaido? It's another island, in the north of Japan. You wouldn't believe the fun I've had in those water...falls..."

Aang's voice faltered as the atmosphere in the hut tensed up uncomfortably. The wide smile on Katara's face had fallen away and Sokka had returned to staring at him again, this time with drilling intensity. Aang looked around sheepishly and reached gingerly over to the blanket, pulling it slightly over himself as his eyes flickered from face to face, wondering "uhh...did I say something wrong?"

Katara looked momentarily pained, shaking her head to push it away and force a smile for Aang's benefit, "no! No! It's nothing! Keep going!"

Sokka grunted and muttered under his breath, "so the Japanese are sending bald-headed kids now? That's original..."

"Well..." Aang made his best effort to not let himself get unnerved by Sokka's dark mutterings, and shifted his geography a little, "...there's this place in Indo-China that's really fun. These massive old ruins called 'Ankor Wat'. It used to be a great civilisation, but with all the buildings just sitting there, I got together a huge number of other kids and had by far the most _epic _game of hide-and-seek you ever did saw."

To Aang's delight, Katara began giggling again, and all Sokka did was roll his eyes, which was a definite improvement on his previous attitude. He tensed up again however as someone else entered the hut, and the entrance of a cool and reserved old woman in the same attire as the other two led Katara to turn away from Aang and compose herself. She spoke respectfully to the elder "Gran-Gran, he's feeling better now. His name is Aang Anil, and he's from Tibet. He doesn't know how he got here."

Gran-Gran looked at Aang with eyes made of ice, to which Aang attempted to make a good impression by smiling disarmingly. Even though the elder's expression never changed, something obviously improved in her attitude because she said, "that is excellent news, child. He is very lucky to survive such a freak blizzard. A sign of strong karma. As for your predicament, son...we will do everything in our power to help you return home."

Aang reciprocated the gesture by pressing his palms together and bowing, "thank you. But if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here. You have stronger karma than me." He blinked and became momentarily self-conscious, wrapping his fingers around each other and biting his bottom lip, "although...I'd actually like to stay here a little longer. Never been here before, after all. I'd like to know the people who saved my life better."

"You can stay as long as you need. You are the honoured guest of Usutai village," Gran-Gran's icy gaze turned to Katara, "grand-daughter, you have responsibilities to attend to..."

"Of course, Gran-Gran," Katara obliged, nodding to her grandmother before getting off the bed and facing Aang, "your old clothes are still wet from last night. Do you have any spare clothes, Aang?"

"Ah, y...no! No, I don't. My satchel's mostly filled with...blankets. Yeah," Aang grinned uneasily, "sorry to be a burden, but I think I need to borrow some."

"It's no burden," Katara assured the boy, "I'll drop by Bolormaa's place and pick up some of her kid's old clothes. I think we gave her some of Sokka's some years back. They'd definitely fit."

"That's nice!" Sokka smiled mockingly, "and hey! While we're at it, why not give him his own house, a stock of weaponry and an unlimited food supply! The _least _a complete stranger deserves!"

"Grandson, we are not inhospitable people," Gran-Gran laid a hand on Sokka's shoulder and seemed to communicate something through her eyes, "now is not the time."

Sokka calmed, and nodded respectfully, though it didn't seem to Katara's senses that her brother was backing down any. He seemed to be a making a tactical retreat on Gran-Gran's recommendation. The cool glances Gran-Gran was giving were indication enough that she didn't trust the newcomer any more than Sokka did...she was just being tactful about it. Aang was largely oblivious to this silent conversation, and was keeping himself busy playing with his toes. The argument was going to take place elsewhere, she realised, as Gran-Gran turned to her, "come, Katara."

Katara nodded and gave Aang a parting glance on her way out. Aang smiled back as she shut the door behind her.

With Katara out of the room, the two boys were left without a means of starting a conversation. The still, stuffy, summer morning air filtered through the window of the hut and bisected the room with floating dust. Aang, left alone with a watchful Sokka, sat in silence for a minute until curiosity finally got the better of him.

"I guess you're a cloudy days sorta guy aren'tcha?" Aang ventured to guess, "if it was sunny you'd complain about everyone running around enjoying themselves, and if it was rainy you'd complain about being wet. So cloudy days must be your favourite days, right?"

Sokka was adamant that he was not going give the boy the satisfaction of an easy target, "I don't care what kind of days you are, so long as they're numbered, interloper." He pushed himself off of the wall, picked up a rifle that had been leaning against the woodwork, slung it around his back by its strap and stalked out of the hut, slamming the rickety wooden door behind himself.

Aang, left to his own devices, reflected on Sokka's words for a while before letting loose a small burst of chortling, leaning back onto the bed to remark, "good comeback."

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yup, I have returned...briefly...to fan-fic writing. This is an idea I've had for a good long while, and one that has a longer shelf-life than I think my Book 3 fan-fic would have. It's an AU, as you can see, but instead of just doing another 'they're kids in high school!' knockoff (ironic, given that Avatar is probably one of the only cartoons on television to not be set in school) I thought I'd try something a little unique...a historical analogy. I had a gap in my dissertation work, so I've spent a week writing up 10,000 words of fiction. There'll be a long drought after this is spent, unfortunately, but I wanted to make a dent on it at least.

School's out for summer in the 'states, as far as I know. So here's some summer homework for you...figure out the analogy. It's a pretty big, obvious one considering its one of the real-world wars the Avatar 'Hundred Years War' is apparently based on. There will be two more parts after this, posted once an evening over the weekend, at the end of which it should be pretty clear. Basically, it's an AU retelling in a historical context. Like Indiana Jones meets Empire of the Sun.

There won't be much, but what there is...enjoy!

-Ross Hopkins


	2. Pt 1 Ch 2: A Little Khanate Of Heaven

It didn't take long for Katara to drop by with Aang's clothes...similar practical stuff, though somewhat light for the summer months...and the boy was finally given the chance to look around the village of Usutai. Mostly he accustomed himself to the geography of the place, and quickly discovered that 'village' was a rather generous title to give the place. It had barely a hundred people, almost entirely women and children, and a half-dozen runaways would have officially turned it into a 'hamlet'. It lay atop a small plateau called the Baintsagan Heights, from which one could view the landscape for miles around. It was mostly barren rocky desert with a few oases of dried shrubs. To the east the plateau sloped down towards the decently-sized Helha River, the village's source of fresh water, and to the south it became a ridge that mirrored the river bank south towards a heavily forested mountain range, just visible in the distance. It was this large mountain range, the Greater Khingan, that Sokka and Katara had apparently found him in. It was a fluke of chance that the two had headed south in search of fresh grazing grounds, for the goat herds the village relied upon, while the land around Usutai dried out over the summer.

Through eavesdropping on various people's conversations while they went about their daily lives (which a fair many people took umbrage with), Aang figured out more details about the place. They lived out at the farthest reaches of nowhere, not even appearing on a map, at the eastern edge of Outer Mongolia. Furthermore, a few things had changed since he was last here. For one thing Mongolia was no longer a province of the Chinese Empire, but had become an independent state, the 'Mongolian People's Republic'. Aang was largely unfazed by this, though his hyperactive imagination was wondering why they needed to stress that it was a _People's _Republic. It seemed like needless discrimination against wildlife and livestock from his point of view.

There was, unsurprisingly, a massive dearth in things a bored kid could do around the place, so most of Aang's visit to the place involved looking over people's shoulders to see what they were doing for the day. Eventually he was always shooed away, and it wasn't long before he had run out of shoulders to be shooed away from, and with the annoyed adults refusing his offers of help this left the bald-headed kid sitting on a fence at the edge of the village watching the world go by. He was having serious trouble keeping his eyes open until at midday on the dot a bell started ringing loudly. People reluctantly cleared the village centre in front of him with a fair few rolling of eyes to allow small boys of various ages to emerge out of the woodwork and assemble with dead seriousness in a row facing the village's sole tiny barn-house, to the left of Aang's fence. There were about two dozen of them grouped into teams of six, one boy in each team carrying a rifle, and every single one of them was nowhere near military age.

Out of the barn-house strode Sokka trying his best to look imperious, holding the strap of his rifle over his shoulder with one hand and ringing what looked like a school bell in the other. Leaving the bell to one side, Sokka inspected what could, if one was being spectacularly imaginative, be called his 'troops'. He held his hand to the small of his back and looked down at the boys, "still a little sloppy, Citizen Militia. If that was a _real _alarm the enemy would've overrun us by now."

"Sowwy Sokka..." the leader of the rightmost group sagged.

"That's _Captain Hakoday_ to you! Stand up straight, soldier!" Sokka snapped, meandering menacingly down the line of children, "you might have forgotten, _comrades_, but you represent the first line of defence for the entire People's Republic. Chairman Choibalsan has been working ceaselessly to liberate this country from the superstitious feudalist bourgeois nonsense that has kept the Mongolian people in the dark ages for centuries. But all his efforts, and the efforts of all workers and peasants as they blaze the path for our revolution, will be for _nothing _if your vigilance to protect the Republic is so easily distracted by the village girls leaning over as they tend the water pump, _Private Odgerel!_"

Sokka snapped his fingers next to the distracted face of the child in question, and he jumped and squealed in fright. The kid trembled and made a _strenuous effort _to stand to attention. Sokka seemed mightily disappointed at this response, turning away from the boy and pointing his finger authoritatively in the air to continue his motivational speaking.

"Private Odgerel has just demonstrated how _not _to react to surprises. You must always expect the unexpected when defending the integrity of the Republic from any and all invaders! A surprise attack may come at any moment, so _at all times _you must think of yourselves as tigers at rest, fearsome beasts ready to spring at a moment's notice to tear an invader _limb...from...limb_. You must become the will of the entire Mongolian people. Become its strength, become its determination and above all become its _wrath_..." Sokka clenched his fist to emphasise this point, but his motivational performance was suddenly undermined by an outburst of laughter from his left. Eyebrow arching up his forehead, he could easily tell the origin of this explosion of counter-revolutionary mirth, and castigated its source, "do you have something to contribute, Mr. Anil?"

Aang wiped a tear from his eye and coughed to contain his laughter, holding an arm out to get Sokka to give him a moment to regain his composure, "no...no...I'm good, I'm good. Sorry. Carry on! Carry on!"

Sokka groaned and turned back to his militia, "as I was _saying_...remember that you are the Citizen Militia of the Mongolian people. The blood running through your veins is the blood of the strongest nation ever to emerge from mankind. At one time, the Mongols ruled over half the Earth, and you could have travelled the whole world from Finland to Korea and every...square...foot was Mongolian territory. That is the awesome power you have in yourselves, the power of Genghis Khan himself, and unleashed by the socialist revolution is the Genghis Khan in every single one of you!" Sokka was entering into a flourish only for laughter to erupt again, only this time it was unstoppable. He turned angrily at the Tibetan who had fallen off the fence in fits of chuckling, "of course, unlike Tibetans, who fall at the knees of anything with a _pulse_, no doubt."

"I'm sorry...it's just..." Aang wavered as he held his sides, getting unsteadily to his feet trying to contain his entertainment, "it's just...you got these kids. These little, little kids. And there's you being all serious and upstanding and saying _'rargh! We am mighty and we am conquer the world!_' I mean...why don'tcha just call yourselves 'The Golden Horde' while you're at it?"

"It's easy for you to poke fun..." Sokka remarked bitterly, "you don't have to worry about enemy soldiers trampling over _your _home. We need to be ready to wage war at a moment's notice, an' your sniping ain't helping."

Aang stood up straight with a smug look on his face, and coughed politely before beginning to lecture, "hatred will not cease by hatred, but by love alone. Your hostile mind will just be a magnet for other hostile minds. Really...you''ll have an easier life if you just chilled a bit. It's not like 5 rifles and a gang of kids would do much against a bunch of marauding bandits anyway."

Sokka took this lecture with a slate face, and rolled his eyes for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon, "yeah...well...'reality calling Aang'. We got bigger problems than a bunch of bandits to worry about. With the war down south and everything..."

"War?" Aang's smile fell in concerned surprise, "what war?"

"What other war is there?" Sokka asked incredulously. Aang's resigned shrug left Sokka's expression frozen in surprise. The kid was completely in the dark about one of the largest conflicts in history. The Mongolian let out an exasperated sigh and walked away from his troops.

"Okayyyy...since you seem to know _absolutely nothing_...I'm gonna show you why we need every able-bodied man in the village ready to fight," Sokka placed an arm around Aang's shoulder and guided him to a fence that bordered the village to the east, resting on top of small rise that led down all the way to the gentle river below, and the shrub-covered land beyond. Aang looked across while Sokka pointed, "see there? On the other side of the river? That, my friend, is China. Or at least it used to be. Nowadays it's called Manchukuo, a puppet state under the control of the Japanese."

"The Japanese?" Aang raised an eyebrow and turned to Sokka, "what are the Japanese doing in _Mongolia_?"

"You tell me," Sokka raised his eyebrow in response, "the Japanese have been waging war against China for ages. They've taken most of the north and now they're working inland bite by tiny bite. But whatever reason they decided China ain't enough for them...they gotta have the ass-end of nowhere too. Not long ago they attacked this area, trying to secure control over the river. They threw everything they had at us, and it was only thanks to the Russians that Usutai is still Mongolian. Both sides called a truce and we've been staring at each other ever since, but no one thinks it'll last. So you might try to appreciate why 'peace and goodwill to all men' ain't exactly high on our list of priorities."

"Wow..." Aang looked at the other side of the river, with its thin, hazy watchtowers poking up intermittently from the mud-coloured plain, "so much has changed in just a few months."

"A few months?" Sokka scowled as something in the village attracted Aang's attention, "what are you on?"

"Hey! Can I join!?" Aang grinned and ran away from the fence, yelling towards the centre of the village. Sokka followed his voice in confusion.

"Can you join wha...wh..wa..._what the_...!?" Sokka clenched his fists in anger at the display of laughing kids in front of him running around in circles and skipping like they were riding things. As Aang bouldered in, Sokka became furious, "_parade is not over, militiamen_!"

"But we're The Golden Horde!" whined Odgerel, picking himself up from tripping over another boy. Aang leaned over to chime in.

"Wait a minute, you don't have any steeds!" Aang gesticulated, "you can't be a Mongol horde and not have magnificent steeds!"

"We don't got no horsies..." another boy deflated in disappointment.

"Don't worry! I'll get you horsies!" Aang dropped to all fours and invited the kids over, "get on my back and _prepare to charge across the steppes!_"

The boys charged in together, burying Aang under a mountain of laughing children. The residents didn't seem to mind the dust being kicked up across their daily work, as they were just happy they didn't need to worry about their kids being trapped indoors all day. Aang rolled around with the other kids, laughing as he got everyone halfway organised.

Sokka pressed his hand against his face, shrugging to the heavens before collecting the rifles and skulking off back into the farmhouse, muttering to himself "at least they're not having tea parties..._yet_."

* * *

The dark, stuffy interior of the hut might have been suffocating if one hadn't been working constantly in such conditions since summer began. Katara, having long been confined in this way, was starting to consider fresh, clear air an anomaly. But she persevered. She tied a knot in the string holding the bag closed, and held it under Gran-Gran's nose to smell. The elder sniffed deeply, and if Katara was eagle-eyed enough she might just have caught Gran-Gran coming the nearest she'd ever come to smiling.

"Excellent, Katara. These dried Seabuckthorn berries will be perfect for treating serious burns," Gran-Gran congratulated the Mongolian girl, turning to the side of the hut to retrieve materials from a series of straw-made cubby-holes, "I think you're now ready to learn the remedy for treating diabetes. For this you'll need some copper..."

"You know...Gran-Gran..." Katara placed the bag of dried berries to one side, "I learnt enough about medicine from mother to tell that one placebo is pretty much like any other placebo..."

"And as someone who has been taught the ancient medicinal ways my whole life, I can tell you that is entirely correct," Gran-Gran stood up with a small jar of copper powder in one hand and scolded the young woman, "that's the whole purpose of a placebo. If a condition requires the co-operation of the patient, convincing him that you have a miraculous cure gives him the strength to help him help himself. But it must be believable. Any sign of improvisation or a lack of conviction will destroy the illusion entirely and leave the patient vulnerable to his own imagination. Do you not agree?"

"I guess..." Katara shrugged, "it just doesn't feel very honest..."

"There's more to a traditional remedy than healing wounds," Gran-Gran emptied the contents of the jar into a small bowl, "it's also about healing bonds. People like your brother are entranced by the modern ways, these strange new ideas that have overtaken our land since before you were born. This Choibalsan is convinced he can build the modern world in the middle of the desert, and is stamping over the old traditions that have kept our people together, killing thousands in the process, in his mad quest for a worker's paradise. This madness will pass, as all madnesses have passed many times in my life, but until it does we must do our best to keep the old ways alive, even if we must do so in secret..."

"Gran-Gran, that's exactly the same speech you've given me a million times. _I get it_," Katara stressed, sitting down at the bench upon which the remedy ingredients were laid, the window to her side, "I _know_ how important it is. For us, for that big lug out there, for mom..."

Katara paused to look out the window and sigh heavily, memories flooding in. It was a raging torrent of feelings that she had learnt to redirect at will. The real motive for her involvement in illegal practices coming to uncomfortable light. Gran-Gran set the bowl down and leant over sympathetically, "the noble eightfold path cannot be embarked upon for selfish purposes, Katara. You should believe in karma for its own sake, not because of your desire for your mother to reach nirvana."

"I know," Katara clamped a hand to her chin, pausing to watch the dust dance in the sun before flailing impotently, "I know! I'm sure she's doing just fine, floating with the rest of karma, being all disembodied and melty and stuff...it's just...I'm just not as strong as you, Gran-Gran. I never had this big belief in a larger world than ours. I've never seen any of it..."

Katara drifted off watching the comings and goings of people outside the window. Gran-Gran shrugged off Katara's comments and continued, "regardless of your attitude to the old ways, you have demonstrated a remarkable grasp of its methods. Now, this diabetes remedy. It requires a portion of copper to be heated until it turns into a reddish colour, so first..."

Katara wasn't paying attention. Her gaze had shifted to the joyful scrum going on outside. The boys had organised into 'riders' and 'horses', and were busy scrabbling around the yard in the centre of the village falling over each other repeatedly. The lead 'horse' was Aang, giving directions about where to face, until the small boy sitting on top of him finally pointed a mitten upwards and commanded, "th' horde of Genghis Khan descends! Lay waste t' the peasants!" Aang reared back and roared a guttural 'neigh!', sending the rider backwards and the whole group into paroxysms of laughing. Katara giggled at the display, and felt a strong desire to join in.

"_Katara!_" Gran-Gran coolly snapped, leading the girl to jump in shock at such a sharp voice coming from the normally understated grandmother. Katara turned to look into the woman's face, which was even icier than usual, "you shouldn't get too attached to that boy. He won't be with us for long."

"Sorry...I was a little distracted..." Katara shifted in her seat away from the window, "but...I know he won't be here long. That's no reason to not enjoy it while it lasts, isn't it?"

"That is all the reason you need," Gran-Gran emphasised, "the Tibetan boy is a stranger and a bad influence. The sooner he leaves, the better it will be for all of us."

"I don't get it!" Katara protested, "what's Aang done that's so terrible? He's only been here a day, and he's done nothing but good for this place! Honestly, when was the last time you heard children _laughing_ around here? Ever since the Japanese raided the village, it's like they took this place's soul with them! It's taken Aang to remind us of what we've been missing all this time."

"The signs are far from auspicious, Katara," Gran-Gran spoke gravely, "the boy was brought halfway across the continent, his appearance heralded by a mountain blizzard in _June_. By himself he may be harmless, but it is what he brings _with_ him that could destroy our way of life."

"What?" Katara asked meekishly.

"Trouble."

An uneasy silence punctuated Gran-Gran's pronouncement, and lingered for a long while as a buzzing roar grew steadily in the distance. The children in the yard scattered, and Aang was looking around wondering where the noise was coming from, until over a small ridge leading into the village there came a young man, wearing a mud-orange-coloured uniform with a leather cap and goggles, gripping onto the handlebars of a magnificent machine, a roaring, two-wheeled, loud and hideously overpowered vehicle that skidded to a halt in the middle of the village. Katara got a small kick out of Aang's stunned reaction. Mustn't have many motorcycles in Tibet, she thought.

The teenager sighed again. She could tell her grandmother's eyes were burrowing fiercely into the back of her skull. Katara turned back to Gran-Gran, "how come the only time you ever agree with Sokka is to disagree with me?"

"Because I would be failing in my duty as a grandmother if I wasn't a jerk sometimes," Gran-Gran's slate face belied the joke somewhat, "go check your mail."

Katara nodded, and walked towards the door.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Starting to make sense now, eh? Aang, the Tibetan, finds himself rescued by Katara and Sokka, the Mongolians, who had previously suffered a raid by the Japanese, a side-theatre to their main war against China. Figuring out who goes where shouldn't be too difficult here. As for precise dates, you're just going to have to wait until tomorrow! I am cruel, but I'm also wanting to give this sufficient exposure to actually be read by more than a few people, which means regular updates until my next hiatus.

Trust me to post this on the day the last Potter book comes out. I'd forgotten all about it.


	3. Pt 1 Ch 3: Indistinguishable From Magic

Sokka had run out of the farmhouse at the motorcycle's appearance and was already hopping excitedly from foot to foot in front of the soldier before Katara even got out the house. The dispatch rider was only a few years' Sokka's senior, but had an air of wiliness about him that had grown out of considerable mileage. He pulled his goggles up off of his eyes and became an island of calm next to Sokka's urgency, asking in a friendly voice, "top of the afternoon to you, soldier! You ready for a special treat?"

"Sure am, comrade!" Sokka let loose a quick salute before salivating again.

"Do you have _Private Oyunbileg's _special treat?" the soldier leaned towards Sokka suggestively, evidently waiting for something.

"Not so loud!" Sokka whispered nervously, "(I'm supposed to be a pillar of the community...)"

The boy looked around suspiciously and reached quickly inside his jacket for a large, tightly-wrapped brown parcel, handing it over to Private Oyun in the blink of an eye. The parcel disappeared into a pocket of the soldier's uniform, and the shifty eyes became friendly again. Oyun smiled as he reached behind himself into a satchel slung around the rear of the motorcycle, conversationally stating "and dispatch messenger Private Oyunbileg has many wondrous and delicious treats to bestow upon the sons and daughters of the revolution that reside in Usutai..."

"Ah hah? Ah hah?" Sokka danced on the spot, holding out his hands for the items Oyun was taking an inordinate amount of time retrieving.

"Such assss..." Oyun began with anticipation, before nonchalantly flipping out a folded newspaper, "a copy of last week's Unen. Horribly out of date, Oyunbileg knows, but what isn't in Eastern Mongolia?"

Sokka snatched the newspaper and stuffed it in a pocket, still holding his hands out hungrily and getting increasingly tense, "that's great. Now what else? C'mon! C'mon! Gimme!"

"Just let me check..." the messenger teased by leaning back and checking the satchel painfully slowly, "there is more to come. I assure you. The word of Private Oyunbileg is never wrong...a-ha!"

"_Yeah!?_" Sokka shrieked in delight.

Oyun sat back up with a smile and handed over a bundle of envelopes, "dispatch letters! Oyunbileg knows how you people just love to keep in touch..."

Sokka snatched the letters angrily and started stamping the ground with his feet, "_stop with the suspense, for god's sake!_"

"Oh yes, I believe there's something else, how strange for something to slip Private Oyunbileg's mind," Oyun set about shuffling through the satchel again, only to pause a second later, "hmm...that's funny. It doesn't seem like there is anything else for you..."

Sokka was ready to melt with despair until Oyun perked up again, "oh, hang on. What's this?" The messenger pulled out a large square envelope, in which a round object could be clearly seen. Sokka squealed in undisguised delight as Oyun held it up in the air to inspect, "not too sure how this thing got there. Funny little thing..." Sokka made a grab for it, but somehow Oyun was able to tell when Sokka's arms shot out as he raised the object high out of the villager's grasp, "I wonder what it is? Now, Oyunbileg is just using Oyunbileg's own judgement here..." Sokka leapt towards the object, only for Oyun to swivel around to the other side of the motorbike, leaving Sokka splayed across the ground and envelopes scattered in all directions, "...but I _do _believe, if my eyes are not deceiving me, this might just beeee..." Finally, the messenger held the thin object in-between two fingers and dangled it over Sokka's exhausted head, "..._How High The Moon _from 'Benny Goodman And His Orchestra'..."

Sokka cried out rapturously as he snatched the phonograph record from Oyun's gloved hand and cradled it deliriously, "_aaaaaaathankyouthankyouthankyouyou'rethegreatesteveraaaaaaa!_"

"No need to thank Oyunbileg for his magnanimous service to the proletariat," the messenger puffed his chest before deflating over his handlebars, "it's just a relief to find someone out here in the ass-end of nowhere that appreciates Swing Jazz..."

Sokka was giggling as he clutched his most precious possession, though once his high peaked he did notice something out the corner of his eye, "heyyy...is that a new bike?"

"Thanks for noticing," Oyun remarked sarcastically, as Sokka stood back up and laid a hand on the back wheel.

"This is the new IZh-9 you were talking 'bout, ain't it?" Sokka guessed, "350cc engine, 10 horsepower and a top speed of 125kph, right? I didn't even think they were making 'em in Russia, yet."

Oyun perked up, evidently pleased at his new toy, "first off the production line, or near enough. Most _Soviet_ dispatchers don't even have these yet, an' I betcha you won't find more than a dozen in all of Mongolia, but Oyunbileg knows, my friend. Oyunbileg _knows_."

The messenger tapped the side of his nose playfully, which drew a smile from Sokka. He asked in interest, "y'think it could take a passenger back to Bayan Tumen?"

"No can do, I'm afraid, soldier," Oyun shook his head, "I got another dozen villages to do before the day's out, and I got enough fuel for one trip. Unless, of course, you happen to have any more _special treats_?"

Sokka bit his lip, "...not..._yet_...but I'll have some extra next time you come by!"

"I don't do I.O.U.s, amateur."

"Natch..."

"So why d'you ask?"

"We picked up someone in the mountains yesterday who's a loooong way from home, so now he needs a lift back to wherever. And on top of that..." Sokka looked in both directions before leaning in conspiratorially, "(...don't tell anyone I told you, but I think he might be an..._Enemy Of The People_...)"

"Sokka..." Oyun educated the youngster, "_you're _an Enemy Of The People, _I'm _an Enemy Of The People, _the people _are Enemies Of The People. That's a very serious accusation you're throwing around there. I mean real 'line up against the wall' type stuff. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that, but...well..." Sokka leaned again and whispered as hard as he could, "(..._he deserves it_...)"

"Oh!" Oyun lightened up considerably, "in that case, there'll be a supply truck coming by the middle of next week. He can hitch a lift on that back to Bayen Tumen, and from there to anywhere he needs to go. Shipment should be a bit bigger than usual this month. Lots of things happening lately."

"Happening somewhere else, I'm sure," Sokka sniped, "but that's good, we been running low on rifle ammo for a while."

"Being a bit generous with the target practice are we?"

"Have you _seen _the size of the wolves around here?"

"Thankfully, no."

Sokka sighed with boredom and took the folded newspaper out of his pocket, "so what _is _happening lately?" the villager shook the paper open and glanced lazily at the front page, "'Hitler Smashes French And British'..." Sokka made a double-take and checked the headline again, "...huh! Last I heard, the both of 'em were just sitting in trenches _glaring_ at each other."

"That was then..." Oyun filled in, "now the 'bore war's got a whole lot less boring."

"Good for them..." Sokka scrunched up the newspaper and threw it in the direction of the river and the watchtowers beyond, groaning bitterly, "_maaan..._I'm starting to wish the Japanese _would _attack, just to break the monotony!"

"You 'an me both," Oyun commented, "but with the Non-aggression Pact and the drubbing they took the last time they tried anything stupid, I wouldn't put money on it."

"You gotta have a put-down for everything, don'tcha?" Sokka glared at the soldier.

"Oyunbileg knows..." Oyun tapped the side of his nose sympathetically, as if his knowledge was a condition that couldn't be helped. Sokka descended into a glum funk after the tremendous high of receiving a new Jazz single. The wind around the Baintsagan Heights was picking up again, the distantly small howl adding emphasis to the village's isolation. It was suffocating here, in this tiny provincial hovel, the farthest away from civilisation anyone on planet Earth could ever envisage. This train of thought was interrupted by his sister intruding in his bubble to pick up an envelope that had fluttered to his fleet.

"Sokka, why is the mail strewn across the yard?" Katara asked from her kneeling position beside him, inspecting the fallen letter.

"You know as well as I do that we never get anything important, Katara," Sokka hadn't entirely left his funk when he leant down to pick up some of the letters from the dusty ground, "I mean, look at this...we got the newest census form, which will be just as identical to the _old _census form when we send it back...we got Aunt Sarangerel's friend from Tsetserleg continuing their _fascinating _conversation about useful cookery tips...and we got a telegram from 'Sunny Scandinavi-' hey! Katara! It's from Dad and the guys in Finland!"

Katara jumped up in surprise and rushed over, cuddling close to look around Sokka's shoulder at the slip of paper, a huge smile erupting on her face, "Dad! How is he!?"

"Uhh..." Sokka inspected the message, "'freezing as all hell, but otherwise hunky dorey'. Bato was bed-ridden for week after being tricked into thinking a frozen stream was a hot spring."

Katara laughed at the details of various escapades before asking the big question, "any word on when he's coming home?"

"...no..." Sokka's crushing disappointment was such that he looked at the other side of the paper, just to make sure, "...he just wanted to say he's alright..."

Katara was just as disappointed, and rolled off Sokka's back slowly as she muttered, "Stalin's gonna keep him there forever, isn't he?"

"C'mon, sis," Sokka turned to comfort his sister, "you know it was their own choice. After what the Russians did for us, we had to give _something _back! It's...it's what warriors do! You should feel proud of him."

"I should..." Katara couldn't look Sokka in the eye, and clutched her arms together vulnerably, "but we already gave so much...the Japanese took so much..."

Sokka sighed, moving forward to embrace Katara in a very necessary hug and back-patting, "...I know...I know what you mean..."

The village had grown quiet again. The laughter had gone, and they felt alone on top of the hill above the Helha River. It was a desperate loneliness they had felt constantly for a full year, never subsiding. They felt like they were trapped in a sunken boat, unable to leave, unable to face the sharks that put them there, just waiting for something to happen. They'd dealt with it in their own ways. Sokka kept his hands at work, and Katara kept her mind in contemplation. Neither worked.

Oyun had enough sense to realise that he was a blemish on the landscape of this heartfelt family moment, so he coughed politely to request his exit, "so...um...you have anything you want to send someone? I _do_ have that dozen more villages to do..."

"No! No..." Sokka, stuck in his sibling embrace, waved an arm in the messenger's direction, "...we're good. Nothing urgent. See ya next week."

"Okay! Great. Uhh..." Private Oyun wasn't sure how to approach his question without sounding awkward, "...'cept...can you tell this kid to stop fondling my property? It's very disconcerting."

"Whaddya...?" Sokka pulled away from Katara to look aside, and sure enough the Tibetan bald boy had snuck up to the motorbike unnoticed and was busy ogling it like it was something from a moon of Saturn. Sokka was livid "Aang! Stop that! Don't you know that's a brand new IZh-9 you're rubbing your dirty palms over!?"

"But..." Aang looked up with a gaping jaw, that looked like it had been fixed in place for ten minutes or more...which it _had_, but that was beside the point. He didn't dare let his fingers off the machine, "...but...what is it? It doesn't need horses or...steam engines...or...I...I don't understand! How does it move!?"

"It 'moves' thanks to an internal combustion engine powered by refined petroleum," Sokka tugged Aang physically away from the bike and gripped both his arms, staring fiercely right into his dazed, confused face, "_like everything else in the entire world ever_."

"What's the matter with you, kid?" Oyun was more amused than annoyed at Aang's confusion, "it's like you never seen a motorcycle before."

Aang looked up at Oyun with a pair of adorably lost eyes, mumbling uncertainly "...mo...tor...cy...cle...?"

Oyun squinted hard at the boy, and Sokka, helpfully, leaned aside to explain as quietly as he could, "(...this is the counter-revolutionary I was talking about...)"

"(I see what you mean...)" the soldier was afraid to take his eyes off of the Tibetan as he whispered back, "(...no self-respecting member of the proletariat would have a hairstyle like that...)"

"Sokka!" Katara butted in, somewhat affronted by all the ganging-up going on in front of her, "so he hasn't seen a motorcycle. Big deal! He's from Tibet! If he's never seen a motorcycle in Tibet then quite frankly Tibet has its priorities straight."

"You have something against motor vehicles, ma'am?" Oyun ventured to ask condescendingly.

"They're loud and obnoxious," Katara crossed her arms in scowling confrontation with the soldier, "like everything else the Party and the People's Army bring with them."

"Hmph..." Oyun was far from impressed with Katara's obstinacy, "no wonder you take the kid's side. You both seem to have a natural aversion to the Twentieth Century."

"Twentieth Century?" Aang asked in confusion, "what are you talking about?"

The statement, like many other statements that day, had struck the three others as so fundamentally bizarre that it was beyond commentary. They just...looked at him. Where Oyun was wincing in incomprehension, the words coalesced to form a terrible kind of sense in Katara's and Sokka's minds. Something was deeply wrong with Aang. More than hypothermia wrong. More than geographical dislocation wrong. Something so wrong that it defied all their previously-held beliefs in the certainties of this world.

Thinking quickly, Sokka swirled to Oyun with an insane smile on his face, "Private Oyunbileg has a dozen villages to do!"

The soldier quickly got the message that it was best if he skidaddled as quickly as humanly possible, and nodded in mock-seriousness in return, "Private Oyunbileg sure does!" Starting his bike's motor with a forceful thrust from his foot, Oyun revved the motorbike up and tore off in a swirling whirwind of dust, kicking the sand behind him as he tore straight out the village again.

As the horizontal plume of dust settled, Katara and Sokka warily approached Aang, uncertain about how to approach this. Aang was still wondering what the both of them looked so horrified about. It was the nurse-in-training that piped up the courage to ask, "...Aang...exactly..._when_...did you get lost in the Himalayas?"

"...Thursday?" Aang attempted to answer the question as directly as such an odd question warranted.

"Weird enough, since it _is _Tuesday..." Sokka carried on Katara's line of questioning, "...but...I think we were wondering more in terms of a _date_?"

"...Eighteenth?"

"It's the Fourth."

"...of September?"

"June! C'mon! One more level up to go!"

Aang was getting sick of being interrogated this way, and his frustration boiled over into anger, "stop it, guys! Quit playing around! Y'think I wouldn't know it was _1890_!?"

The Mongolians gaped.

...1890?

Did Aang just say he got lost in the mountains in 1890?

Katara ran off to fetch the scrunched up newspaper on the other side of the yard while Sokka was too paralysed through keeping his face winced unbelievingly to put enough brain cells in place for a full rebuttal. Aang's anger subsided, and he was wondering if the mere sound of his voice was violating some rule or another, "...so...I guess it's..._not..._1890?"

Katara ran back up to Aang and leant down to stare him in the eyes, "no, Aang. It's not 1890." The teenager unrolled the newspaper and held it in front of her, blue eyes focused intently on the Tibetan's features, "it's Tuesday June 4th 1940, and you went missing in the Himalayas _50 years ago_."

Aang took the newspaper from Katara's hands and looked carefully at the date on the paper. Brown eyes still and unblinking. Katara couldn't tell what was going through that mind. Whatever it was, an immeasurable distance seemed to grow in him, in time as well as in space, as the realisation sunk in that the Tibetan wasn't just far from home...he didn't even have a home anymore. There was still a Tibet, but _his_ Tibet was 50 years gone, and he wasn't getting it back. The yawning chasm in thought and feeling became unbridgeable, as reality sunk in and the 12-year-old bald boy had to react to the knowledge that all his old friends and loved ones were gone.

"...oh."

Aang looked aside and saw the gaggle of young kids returning glumly to their houses, and smiled as he dropped the paper aside and ran towards the group, shouting excitably, "hey guys! We can't stop now! The Mongol Hordes haven't pillaged Mesopotamia yet!"

Odgerel was getting weary of all the charging and falling off, and spoke for the rest of the rabble of pre-pubescents, "but we dun' wanna play horsies no more..."

"No, no! Hear me out! Hear me out," Aang stopped in front of the gang of boys and held his hands out to help them visualise the possibilities, "get this...Mongol Hordes...on _motorcycles_..."

The group's interest was collectively piqued enough for a rise of two dozen tiny eyebrows, and Odgerel considered the issue carefully, "so...no more '_neeeiiiggghhh_'...an' a lot more '_BROOOWWWR! BROOOWWWRMMM!_'"

"Yeah!" Aang clenched his fists and grinned in anticipation.

Odgerel wasn't sure. He had to think about it. Some careful thought and much stroking of chins later, he finally delivered his verdict, "..._awesome_."

Katara and Sokka watched dumbfounded as Aang led the Mechanised Mongol Hordes across the vast Eurasian steppes of Usutai's dusty yard. Sokka found the Tibetan boy's reaction counter-intuitive and deeply abnormal, "okay...he's the one that's supposed to have missed 50 years...and he's taking it better than I am."

"No..." Katara shook her head, crossed her arms and looked sadly and carefully at Aang, who seemed like he didn't have a care in the world, "...he's not."

* * *

He could see the motorcycle's trail leaving the village, snaking down the hill out of sight, knowing from the various reports of these border towns that this would be the settlement's last contact with the outside world for a week or more. The scowling teenage officer lowered his binoculars and glowered at the village in plain half-scarred sight. His unit waited on the other side of the river, as the bespectacled young lieutenant carried an instrument case covered with dials and switches in one hand and a held a metallic microphone-esque probe in the other. The instrument screeched and gurgled, rising and lowering in pitch as the soldier waved the probe around, eyes closed to better concentrate on the sounds emerging in his headphones. Soon, the eyes opened, ablaze with certainty. 

"Soko..." the Lieutenant fixed the location of the signal. Even with the mile-wide margin of error the instrument had, there was nowhere else it could be. It was the only human habitation in a hundred square kilometres, "mono ni iruhazu."

"Hontou desu ka?" the officer asked without facing away from the village. After so many false leads and heightened hopes, he was determined to be sure that the clue they had scraped up was genuine and not another false dawn, especially if it meant intruding into Stalin's backyard. Tokyo had little patience for such intransigences even from their prized Kwantung Army, let alone his own tiny band disowned by the military structure. They were hidden by a patch of dried scrub a short distance from the border, well away from the river thanks to the Russian onslaught a year before. In the midday sun the hilltop village glittered.

"Hai, Shosa-sama," the Lieutenant nodded affirmatively, packing his equipment and returning to the armoured car. A bearded soldier stepped forward close to the teenage commander and communicated his impatience.

"Watashitachi koogeki ka, Shosa-sama?" the soldier huffed impertinently, hungering for action. The officer, though half the soldier's age, was completely, single-mindedly serene by contrast.

"Ie..." the commander answered negatively, "machimasu yuugure."

It would be too dangerous raiding in broad daylight, with height in the enemy's advantage and no opportunity for surprise. Even with greater forces at his disposal, any sign of a build-up would have the Red Army reinforcing this sector in days. A lightning raid by a small unit under the cover of darkness held the best chance for success. The loyal son had strived two years for this moment. He could wait a few more hours.

Behind him, an elderly gentleman stretched out and relaxed in the shade of the armoured car, relieved at the prospect of an entire sunny afternoon spent lying around and enjoying the warm weather. The retiree mumbled pleasingly to himself "itoshii hi..."

The nephew felt able to indulge his uncle's stalling habits for now. His ticket home was staring him in the face just across the river. One final push and it would all be over.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **There we go! June, 1940. Right in the middle of the Second Sino-Japanese War. The parallels are so obvious that this idea must have occurred to somebody before. 

I've noticed that a disproportionate amount of my stories seem to consist of dialogue. Endless endless streams of it. I guess it's somewhat excusable in this section since with so much historical detail you do sort of need some stranger waltzing in to spout off as much exposition as necessary before blasting off again. There'll be more action to balance things out when I next work on this, which just to warn you all won't be anytime soon. My gap in study time has now slammed shut and I've been spending today getting back to work again. I just wanted this introduction out there just to give this concept a concrete purchase in reality.

The chapter title is an Arthur C. Clarke quote, by the way. His Third Law of Prediction: 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' Rather apt, in Aang's case.


	4. Pt 1 Ch 4: Masks Slip

The Tibetan boy was too pre-occupied with leading hordes of motorcycle-archers across the grasslands of Africa (the victims of their pillaging changed fairly radically from one moment to the next) to notice Katara and Sokka slip away back into their stuffy and humid hut on a furtive mission of discovery of their own. The Mongolian siblings looked around to make sure no one else had acquired a similar idea. Katara looked around more nervously than Sokka, conscious that the both of them were doing A Bad Thing. She could have sworn that she could see the Karma around them being polluted when she closed her eyes, like an oil spill in a clear blue lake. Sokka held no such qualms, convinced as he was that they were doing what they had to do. The sunlight poured in so harshly into the still air of the hut that Katara could see the dust being kicked up as Sokka searched under blankets and inside jars, muttering to himself, "c'mon, where did that little creep hide his stash?"

"Hey...maybe we shouldn't be doing this?" Katara had her arms folded and a concerned look etched on her tanned face, looking out the window at Aang's takeover of the playground. Sokka paused in the midst of his searchings and stood up straight to face his sister.

"What are you talking about?" he asked with hands outstretched, "this was your idea."

Katara's head snapped back, and she looked momentarily highly confused, almost surprised at herself, "was it?"

Sokka cleared his throat to speak in a slight falsetto, "'Aang looked like he was hiding something in his satchel. If we find out what it is, maybe we can figure out what Aang's running away from, and help him deal with his problems.' Your exact words."

"You weren't supposed to agree with me!" Katara grew red-faced with angry embarrassment while Sokka looked under Aang's mattress.

"Katara, Katara, Katara," Sokka spoke condescendingly as he knelt down and felt underneath the mattress with his fingers, "this nation is entering a new age where the people...workers, peasants, soldiers and soldiers' annoying little sisters alike...can speak with one voice for the first time in history. I'd be a pretty bad leader of the community if I disagreed with you on everything just 'cuz I hate your guts. ...which I _do_, but- a-ha!" The militiaman gleamed as he pulled the cotton satchel out from under the mattress, exclaiming "thought you'd get away from clever old Sokka, didya boy?"

The training nurse was gathering the impression that her brother was trying to lead her around in circles, so she cut straight to the point, "it's just that...everything he's done suggests he's running away from something, and doesn't want anyone to know. He's miles and miles and years and years from home anyway, so what good will dredging it all back up do? I don't know...I'm starting to think it's none of our business."

"Mongolia is at stake," Sokka spoke with deadly seriousness as he unfastened the tie on the satchel, "it's _everyone's _business." He looked back down to study the threads that almost burst out of the tightly-fastened satchel, rubbing the fabric under his fingers and pulling it out of its fold to get a better look. The clothes Aang had packed were mostly red in colour, with white and yellow strips nestled inside the folds, smooth compared to their rough Mongolian threads, and at first glance might well have been mistaken for the blankets Aang had tried to convince them the satchel contained. However, on closer inspection...

Sokka's thumb paused and he groaned, "I should've known. No normal kid could be that upbeat..."

"What is it?" Katara peered over, her earlier objections half-forgotten in a surge of curiosity. She was answered by a face-ful of robe.

"I'm happy to say your boyfriend is not in the least bit marrying material," Sokka smiled to Katara's scornful face, before turning decisively sour, "...he's a monk."

Katara ignored the implication and looked down at the robe her brother just threw at her. There wasn't any doubt about it. Even folded and untied, it was unmistakably Buddhist monastic garments. They'd both seen enough Buddhist robes before Choibalsan's crackdown to know they were looking at one even when it wasn't on someone's person and walking around. They could even tell it was specifically from the Gelugpa Sect of Vajrayana Buddhism, as the most numerous and distinctive of those who freely wandered Mongolia before they were swept away for the sake of modernity.

Katara looked from the robe to the boy outside, who was engaging in some piece of melodrama kneeling stoically and cradling his fallen comrade in his arms, General That-Kid-With-The-Huge-Pimple-On-His-Forehead. She peered closer, feeling the robes as she did so. While from a distance the whole thing looked utterly innocent (the fallen comrade was finding it hard not to burst out laughing) there was still something in the way his eyes looked down at the other boy...a strange distance, that she had felt before when showing him around the village, when looking into his face. It was like he could see everything that a person was made of. It at once intrigued her and unsettled her. For that reason, despite not knowing Aang was a monk before, she was now more worried than surprised.

"So that's what he's running away from..." Katara spoke aloud, more to convince herself than to join the dots. Something didn't fit, but she couldn't put her finger on it, "...he didn't want to be a monk?"

"Nah, that's not it," Sokka articulated what was bugging his sister, looking out the window with Katara, "you saw how he acts. He keeps his robes with him, he don't have a single hair on his head, and he goes on about turning back bandits with _the power of love_. He's still a monk! Top to bottom. He just doesn't want us to _know _that."

"He's running from something else," Katara echoed her brother's thoughts, nodding absent-mindedly before turning to face Sokka fully, "what could _that _be?"

"How should I know? You're the one who knows about this Buddhist stuff. You figure it out!" Sokka turned away from the window himself, "at least we know one thing. He definitely ain't a spy. You kinda need to be _sane _to be a spy."

"What are you saying?" Katara challenged, "he's not crazy!"

"You don't really _believe _he's from 1890, do you? I betcha he's not even Tibetan. Getting stuck in that snow storm must've frozen his brain, chewed up his memories and whatnot," Sokka made a whirling motion with his finger next to his head to emphasise the point, "you know how it is with these monks. His mind was probably barely there in the first place. What with the whole 'non-emptiness of the emptiness' nonsense they shove down their throats."

"Aang is not insane!" Katara defended the boy animatedly, "I don't get it, Sokka! Explain it to me! Why do you _hate _him so much!? He's just a kid!"

"He's turned this place into a laughing stock!" Sokka gestured at the window while staring down Katara, "he's been here a day, and look what it's turned into!"

"Yeah, it's turned into a place where people can _live _again," Katara said in a low voice, "I've spent twelve months doing nothing except eat, sleep, work and hear you whining about the way I eat, sleep and work! I wash your clothes, cook your food, look over your goats, maybe do some medical study and herb-mixing on the side, while you go off, every single day, to line up every buck-toothed boy in this place and pretend you're General Zhukov himself. And I keep asking myself, 'why should I do this for _another _twelve months? Why don't I just up sticks and leave in the middle of the night?' Oh yeah! How silly of me! For Usutai of course! For the village Dad fought to defend, our home and birthplace!"

There wasn't any stopping Katara now...and Sokka was starting to regret ever opening his mouth, "but wait a second! Where did our village go? I remember it _being here _a year ago, but all I see nowadays is a bunch of huts with people in 'em! No one sings songs anymore. No one plays anymore. No one _laughs _anymore. All those things that make a place a _home _have gone! _Until he came!_"

"Okay, okay, community spirit could use some work, fair point, nice of you to tell me, we can work together to solve that in the future, I'm sure..." Sokka held his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, "...but c'mon Katara! These are rough times! What kind of Mongolians would we be if we couldn't tough 'em out?"

"It'd be a whole lot easier to 'tough it out' if there was something to tough it out _for_," Katara deflated after her heady outburst, "you feel it too, don't you? This weight we're under? You have to or you wouldn't be going to all this effort to make yourself feel important."

Sokka actually felt wounded by that statement, and mewed, "I _am _important..."

"Okay, then, if you're so central to how this place runs, tell me _exactly _why Aang being here ain't a good thing?" she dared the militiaman.

"'cuz he's gonna be going anyway!" Sokka said in utter exasperation, "one week and your precious 'breath of fresh air' is gonna breeze straight back out again. To Tibet, to the nut house, to wherever. And not a moment too soon. I ain't having any monks in _my _village, so you better get used to the idea that the kid is _gone_. He was _never here_. Got it?"

Katara sagged, and looked aside to focus intently on the Tibetan boy through the window. The light was getting progressively more orange as the day wore on, and play-time outside was starting to drift off to a natural close. It felt like her hopes were dying with it. Her hopes of seeing somewhere, anywhere beyond the horizon. She decided, "okay...then you might as well get used to the idea that_ I _was never here either."

Sokka, realisation rolling up his face with his eyes, grunted as he collapsed back onto the mattress and buried his face in his hands in disbelief, moaning "oh for the love of _God, _Katara."

Katara looked at her brother with a humourless stare inherited from Gran-Gran, "I'm serious."

"I _know_...that's what makes it all the more _pathetic_..." Sokka looked back up, mouth hanging open and eyes drooped, tired with all the melodrama, "one crazy monk-child and you're ready to turn your back on your home, your people and your entire family. Can't you see what he's doing!? He's got us at each others' throats!"

"The only one around here with hands at your throat is you," Katara spoke icily before shrugging the emotional weight off, "besides! He's a long way from home. He might need some company back. It'll just be...you know...a trip. A change of scenery. Airing out the sores, that sort of thing."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure trekking halfway across the continent would be _bracing_," Sokka sat up and tried to get his sister to see reason, "the height of summer, hardly anyone to tend to the flocks as it is, and you wanna go sightseeing with little-boy-schizo? You're not giving strong hints that you're gonna _come back_ from this afternoon stroll of yours."

"I'll be back! ...at...some point...maybe when things get better..." Katara looked off distractedly. The yard was becoming deserted.

"Which of course they would, what with you _gone _and all..." Sokka drawled bitterly, "...you're not thinking things through. Tibet's a long way away! A _stupidly _long way away! You need to go through maybe three countries just to get there! You'll need supplies, you'll need documents, and you're definitely gonna need a good alibi for Aang. Not sure you noticed, but the Buddhist disposition ain't exactly popular lately."

"All the more reason to help him along. He's all alone now, Sokka, we can't just abandon him," Katara reasoned, "and we got a week to prepare, we'll figure something out!"

"Once again, hysterical feminine instincts get in the way of good ol' fashioned common sense," Sokka sighed and relaxed imperiously into the mattress, riling Katara up more than was strictly necessary, "face it, you're too impractical. You don't know the first thing about travelling. I mean, what if Aang doesn't want you along? Have you even _asked _the kid?"

"Asked me what?" Aang queried.

The two siblings stood straight and spun around frightfully at the sound of the bald-headed kid's voice. Katara clutched Aang's robes behind her back and smiled as widely as possible. Sokka did the same, giving over a distinctly creepy vibe as they grinned nervously. Neither had heard the boy enter, and from Aang's point of view they were proclaiming very loudly 'We Are Up To Something Suspicious That Involves You Somehow'. The village was quieting down with the drawing of red-tinged evening, so the desperate giggling from the children of Hakoda was almost the only sound to be heard in the village. Aang glanced from face to face, endearingly bemused and waiting for some kind of explanation.

"Asking about what kind of food you'd like!" Katara covered, waving the open satchel and clothing towards Sokka behind her back, "I was about to stick on dinner y'see and we were planning on having Khar-Khoh but then I thought 'what would Aang like' because you're from far away and all and probably eat something different but I didn't want to bother you while you were having so much fun so I didn't ask and tried to guess which is a bit _hide the satchel _if you get what I mean local saying just ignore it didn't mean anything..."

"Oh..." Aang had trouble deciphering the run-on sentence, and despite the siblings' best efforts could evidently guess what it was Katara was thrusting into Sokka's hands behind her. No matter, he thought while lightening up, they were going to find out eventually, "that's okay, I'm not hungry. Maybe later on I'll help you cook!" Aang leant in and whispered pleasingly, "there's a reeeaaally tasty dish from back home I want to show you..."

"That's great!" Katara's face didn't budge from its creepy, creepy grin, though it was starting to twitch with irritation, "we can do that later on tonight and don't worry about eating later you can look around the village some more and come back later doesn't have to be long just enough time for Sokka to _hide the satchel you idiot _which is kind of a chore we gave a special name to it's pretty complex so Sokka's always needing help with it since he can never tell when _he needs to put something in my hands away right now _and all..."

"Huh?" Sokka broke his grin momentarily in confusion and looked down, realising abruptly that subliminal messages were being given and straightening up again with the wide grin freshly returned, "oh yeah! Of course! That...thing! Yeah! I gotta just...do...that..._thing! _Yeah! The thing! Uh...yeah!"

Sokka abruptly snatched the satchel out of Katara's hands and whirled around to prevent Aang seeing him stuff his robes back inside it and fasten it tight. The speed at which he was trying to do it pretty much ensured that it took even longer than it should have, fiddling furiously. With Sokka distracted, Katara stepped forward to sneak a question to Aang, "so...what is it you want to do before dinner?"

"Well...uh..." Aang briefly glanced sideways at Sokka's restless back shuffling away behind Katara, but soon thought better of it, "while it's still light out, I was thinking of looking around at the base of the hill. I haven't been out of the village all day, and I want to see what it's like!"

"That's great! But..." Katara looked aside at Sokka's back suspiciously, "...I think I'd better come with you. We don't tend to go wandering around this close to sun-set, and there are some steep falls around here. One spot in particular...you put one foot wrong and you tumble halfway down a vertical drop."

"Oooh!" Aang's eyes lit up, "can we go there!?"

Katara raised an eyebrow at Aang's enthusiasm for tumbling down vertical drops...but the strange itching for adventure at the back of her brain was surging again, leading her to give a wry, uncertain smile at the possibility, "sure! Why not?"

"Huh-whut!?" Sokka spun back around, tossing Aang's satchel out of sight behind his back, and stood straight to face the two people who seemed to be forming a co-conspiracy of their own, "what's going on?"

Katara turned, her smile becoming more natural and heart-felt by now, "I'm just gonna show Aang around the Baintsagan Heights. Work up an appetite."

"You can't be..." Sokka sighed and allowed his eyes to roll back again as he decided, "of course you can be serious. Well then, if you're still out after sun-down then I ain't coming out after you." The militiaman picked his rifle up out of the corner of the hut and slung it around his shoulder as he wandered past Katara and Aang towards the door, stating "I'm on guard duty tonight, so you better not bother me."

"You're on guard duty _every _night," Katara crossed her arms at Sokka, "everyone's figured it out, Sokka. We _know _it's just an excuse for you to shut yourself up in that barn all night listening to that American garbage."

"That's _Swing Jazz _to _you_, philistine!" Sokka spun around angrily, vigorously defending his musical taste, "and as it happens, the lively beats and wild rhythm help to keep my body awake, active and aware of my surroundings. Not that _you'd _understand, being just a woman nurse with no conception of tactical efficiency or military discipli- where's my record?"

Sokka had reached into his jacket pocket expressly to wave it in Katara's face, but was coming up empty. He was slowly starting to fret from its absence, checking and re-checking each pocket and becoming more agitated the longer the separation between him and his precious record was. Katara was breaking out into giggles, until Aang stepped forward and stood up on tip-toe, remarking "you mean that thing in the white envelope?"

"_Yes I mean that thing in the white envelope!_" Sokka snapped, "I never let it out of my sight! What the hell happened to it!?"

"I dunno..." Aang shrugged, shortly before perking up in interest as if he just noticed something, "hey! What's that!?"

"What's what?" Sokka scowled.

"That!" Aang reached next to Sokka's face, and in the blink of an eye the missing paper sleeve appeared in the Tibetan boy's hand. Aang grinned, "silly Sokka! It was in your ear the whole time!"

Sokka rapidly snatched the record from Aang's hand and growled viciously at the monk, ruffling the boy's collar with his harsh breath as he held the record up to Aang's face, "listen, punk. You can turn all my soldiers into butterfly-brained idiots. You can spread crazy stories about being 62 years old. You can even scare away all the goats. But _this _is where I draw the line! You _cannot_...and I repeat, _CAN...NOT_..._ever...EVER..._touch my Jazz Music collection again! _EVER! _You get me!? Do you need it written down!? Or don't you understand Cyrillic writing?"

Aang was finding it hard to not to laugh at the brave militiaman becoming so wound up over some kind little plastic frisbee. He nodded with his hand firmly clamped over his own mouth, "okay...I got it."

"Alright..." Sokka wagged his finger a few more times, then left wordlessly with the record held tightly to his chest. Katara wandered up and laid an arm on the bald-headed boy's shoulder.

"Where'd you learn magic tricks?" the tanned girl asked, amused.

"You know what? I must've got that trick off of six or seven different people," Aang smiled back. Katara wasn't sure what that meant, but Aang's smile largely melted away any confusion she felt. He was...in touch with something. That was the only explanation for how this boy, who held so many secrets so close to his chest, could seem so open and so honest. While she studied his face for any clue as to what this thing could be, she seemed to overlook the red blush growing out of his cheeks. The link she felt was gone in an instant, to be replaced with something even more endearing...embarrassment. He looked away uncomfortably, and smiled wider to cover his nervousness, "so! Wanna get going?"

"Sure!" Katara confirmed without reservation, and led Aang out the door into the cooling air.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Update! After nearly a month, my dissertation work was flagging enough to allow me another burst of story writing. Sure, it's mostly fluff this chapter, but _necessary _fluff! And I can readily assure that the amount of fluff will reduce rather drastically come tomorrow and the next two chapters I have in store. It will be a full weekend this time, with an update on Friday evening (now), Saturday morning, Saturday evening, and Sunday evening. All with the express purpose of providing you with a momentous roller-coaster (and keeping this fan-fic at the top of the pile...tee hee marketiiiing!). To help with this 'promotional push' I give you my own illustrations of the characters: http://rasputinnought. is shameless self-promotion. If I _admit _it's shameless self-promotion, that makes it alright, doesn't it? ...doesn't it? 


	5. Pt 1 Ch 5: If I Could Touch The Sky

The Baintsagan Heights, from a far distance, didn't seem especially hilly. Hence why they were called 'heights' instead of 'hills', being more like an undulating plateau than anything remotely mountain. This was to bely the nooks and crannies the Heights offered to anyone willing to search hard enough, though it was more often the case that they weren't so much 'discovered' as 'tripped over'. It was a source of some amusement to many locals when tribes of nomads waltzed through the area expecting seamless rolling plains only to have to be pulled out of cracks in the landscape. The raised bumps of earth made long shadows over the river that ran to the east of them, and from their vantage point the Tibetan monk and the Mongolian nurse could see even further than they could from the village. The cloudless sky and the reddening light conspired to make the view utterly breath-taking.

Katara held an arm out to stop Aang wandering head-first into a vertical drop that sliced into the hill. From a distance it seemed utterly invisible, just another bump in the brown, muddy landscape of the hills. Comparing this barrenness even to the starched bush-land across the river was like comparing night and day. Aang decided that the Mongolians had got the better half of the deal, if they got sights like this. He spoke too soon, however, as he discovered the Mongolians had managed to have their cake and eat it as well. The bush-land he was facing south-east of the village was actually inside Mongolia, right up to the small village he could just make out on the horizon called Nonmohan.

As far as their village was always concerned, Katara explained, the dividing line between Mongolia and what used to be China was once completely academic. Nomadic herdsmen crossed from one side to the other with nary a second thought, and in the spring and autumn months the villagers would graze their flocks in the comparatively fertile land across the river. Even after the Japanese established Manchukuo and tightened the border, the seasonal migration over the river had become such a fixture in their lives that they carried on anyway. Right up until a Mongolian Army Calvary brigade wandered through the area looking for somewhere to tend to their horses and a friendly local helpfully pointed to the other side of the Helha River. Where in the village of Nonmohan a Manchukuo Army platoon took offence to being shunted out of their position and called in their puppet-masters.

Thus began the series of tit-for-tat exchanges that culminated in the Battle of Khalkhin Gol, the rigmarole a year before that they had been dancing around as a subject for so long. There was no chance to linger, however, as Katara quickly moved to griping about how the Red Army had managed to secure prized grazing land to the south while the land nearest to the village was now a heavily-armed border that they couldn't even sneeze at without risk of getting shot. Even the land to the south was reserved for Army use anyway, which was the roundabout reason why a couple of teenagers from the Baintsagan Heights were wandering as far south as the Greater Khingan mountains in search of grazing land for their herds. And why they found Aang.

"See? Bright side to it, after all!" Aang smiled. Katara had to chuckle at the logic at work. The small stream of laughter trickled away into the immense reaches of sky, and there was silence for a moment. It was nice silence, as Katara realised she'd been talking too much and should really have just been enjoying the view. It had been years since she felt so content at simply looking at something, especially her own home. However, looking aside, she realised that Aang's eyes were fixed more firmly on the horizon. Looking elsewhere.

"Well, Aang, now you know more about our home than most of us do," she broke the silence to ask, and it seemed Aang was happy that she did, "but you haven't talked about your home much."

Aang smiled and shrugged, "what d'ya wanna know?"

"Have they got sights like these?" Katara smiled back.

"Kinda," Aang began thinking hard, "it's a lot wetter and cloudier, and I don't think it's ever this hot, or muddy. Lot to do with how high it is, I think. Actually..." Aang raised his eyebrows, "take away the yellowy-brownness and throw in a pile of grassy clumps, and it ain't too different from here! It's on top of a hill too, and near a river. Come to think of it, the view's pretty much the same, except..." the bald-headed boy stuck his tongue out to contemplate Manchuria before him, and held his hands out to indicate, "you see those plains? All along there? Well, instead of plains, there's a whole lot of _mountain_." Aang turned around decisively to look west, thrusting his arms forward, "and see the hills rolling down there? _Mountain_." He then stretched his arms from north to south like he was directing traffic, "and up there? _Mountain_. And the other way? That's _mountain _too!" The boy finished his demonstration with a flourish, "you see why I go around seeing the world. I can barely see it from where I live."

"Don't knock it, it sounds awesome," Katara stood enraptured, at Aang's description, "other than the Greater Khingan, we barely have any mountains around here."

"Gotta admit, if I had hair it would have fallen out _long _ago with all the tobogganing I've done," Aang gave a self-satisfied chuckle, and looked across the plains at the far horizon, "I know a lot of Tibet would've changed in 50 years, but the mountains would still be there. The tallest in the world, going up into the clearest sky...like you can touch the roof if you stretch your fingers enough."

"Clarity and emptiness, the essence of existence,

Like heavenly space,

It is wonderful to see the true face of reality."

For a brief moment, the mask slipped. Until now it was like the boy had all along been pretending to be Aang, when he was actually someone far older, far wiser. The goofy little kid was a mirage, that dissipated under certain conditions. Sokka was right. You could take the boy out of the monastery, but you couldn't take the monastery out the boy.

"Aang...why didn't you want us to know you were a monk?" Katara asked gently. Aang looked down guiltily, the goofy kid slowly returning in more melancholy form. There wasn't any point in avoiding the issue any longer. She knew the truth, he knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew that she knew. It seemed by far the most natural time to ask.

"I...I just wanted to be _me_, just for a little while. Not...you know..._someone else_," Aang paused and halted.

"What do you mean?" Katara stepped forward to lay a hand on Aang's shoulder. He couldn't meet her gaze, "there's more to it than being a monk, isn't there?"

"I'm not sure I could tell you even if everything _was _alright," Aang sighed, and his big, honest smile looked even more honest when he looked back up at Katara, "but that's okay. I'm sorry about hiding it from you. I'm a monk! I can live with that."

Katara patted Aang's shoulder sympathetically, returning the smile with complements, "I can live with that too."

"Yeah..." Aang began to blush with embarrassment again, and looked away furtively as if he was steeling himself for a big question, "heyyyy...you know I've got to get back, right? I mean...it looks like Sokka wants me gone anyway."

"Oh never mind the big lummox," Katara hand-waved away her brother's fears, "what's on your mind?"

"I was thinking..." Aang grew in self-confidence as he approached the question, "you wanna come with me!? To Tibet!?"

Katara's eyes widened in enthusiasm, "can I?"

"Sure!" Aang smiled cheekily, "you looked like you wanted to see it, back in the hut! Besides, I been gone so long it'll pretty much be an adventure for the both of us!"

"That's...!" Katara was ready to say yes in that instant, but Sokka's words from before gave her pause, and in allowing her to catch the landscape of her home turf out of the corner of her eye, so freshly appreciated, her enthusiasm dampened, and her hesitancy fed into a growing anxiety about the implications of Aang's proposal, "that's...oh...I'm not sure...I've never even left Dornod Aimag before. And Tibet's so far away..."

"Not really, it's just on the other side of China..." Aang tried to persuade Katara.

"I know, but 'the other side of China' ain't as friendly a route as it used to be," Katara's hands fidgeted, "the world's falling into war, Aang. And a lot more has changed in China than you might think."

"I know. Sokka's been kinda filling me in. But don't forget I'm a monk...it's bad luck to harm people like me, and it's not like I'll be attractive to robbers," Aang could tell Katara was still unsure, and left it at that, "just promise you'll think about it, okay?"

Katara hesitated, then nodded warmly, "okay. I promise."

Before they had a chance to fully absorb the promise made, they were interrupted by a stupendous chorus of bleats. The two of them had to hop quickly out of the way to avoid being pinned against the cliff edge by a horde of rampaging goats. Katara held an arm across Aang to keep him from getting head-butted, and both looked in surprise as the herd swerved away from the cliff and trampled its way back into the Heights. Trotting along behind them was an exhausted little girl, pig-tails bouncing and waving ineffectually at the herd with a branch, whining "nooo! Not _that _way! The _other _way! Awwww, c'mon! Stupid goats!"

"Don't tell me they let Solongo near the livestock again," Katara muttered under her breath, "she's hopeless with animals."

"Maybe I can help?" Aang perked up, "I talked a rat out of stealing my fruit once. The trick is _stare them in the eyes_. Gets 'em on a guilt trip. Maybe the same would work for goats?"

Katara pondered Aang disbelievingly, but it seemed a harmless enough request. And they did need to get those goats back into their pen, so she called to the little girl, "hey! Solongo! Get back to the village, we'll handle this!"

The girl turned around and paused. She nodded guiltily and scuttled away, leaving the goats wandering aimlessly across the plateau. Katara walked gently along the edge of the cliff, which faced another cliff to form a steep path between them, emerging halfway into the plateau. Aang followed her footsteps carefully, asking, "so what do we need to do?"

"We need to get them back to the village in a single group," Katara stated, "but it's too open up here. Even with the two of us, we'll never get them back to the village in one piece before sun-down. Unless..." Katara looked down at the steep, narrow path between the cliffs that sliced into the hill, hand to chin, "if we get them down there, the river bank leads straight back to the village, up another path."

"I get it," Aang understood, "they'll only have two ways to go, and if we shut off one way, they'll have to go the other, exactly where we want them."

"That's it," Katara confirmed, looking back over her shoulder, "it'll take some work getting them all down there, but that'll be the hard part. We'll need to chase 'em down. Wave our arms around. That sorta thing."

Aang pondered the strategy proposed, the goats themselves, and the steep narrow path leading down. As a viable alternative formed itself in his mind, a mischievous smile also formed on his face. He grinned deviously at Katara, asking, "hey. You know a way of chasing goats that would do the same as what you suggest, but in a way that's so, so, so much more _fun_?"

Katara turned to Aang, catching the devious smile, and wondering instantly how so innocent a face could have so devious a grin. The Tibetan monk might be in touch with realities beyond her understanding, but right at that moment she was beginning to appreciate the times when he was nothing more than a goofy little kid.

Katara smiled again. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled so much in one day.

* * *

The young commander spotted it out of the left corner of his scarred eye. While the other troops were busy keeping themselves occupied...either in fighting shape or simply studying the local plant-life with interest in the case of his elderly uncle...the teenager simply stood and stared. He'd been staring for hours, never once holding any interest in anything except his goal. His vigilance had paid off, as he extended his telescope and peered at the pack of animals that had just appeared into view along the river bank, stampeding from left to right as they emerged from a narrow gap in the hillside.

His uncle grew concerned at the commander's behaviour, and stood up to stretch his arms and legs from kneeling over fascinating species of flower for so many hours. He walked up to his nephew slowly, and muttered conversationally, "ii tenki!" The innocuousness of the comment was simply to try to engage his nephew in conversation, but the young officer simply ignored him, focusing on the opposite river bank with renewed fervour. The uncle had hoped that the boy would eventually have come to realise he was on a fool's errand, and settle down for a humbler life. But with this perhaps illusory fish bait now dangled in front of him, the teenager was more troubled than ever. Besides the risk of it all going horribly wrong, the elderly man was almost as troubled by the prospect of it going right. He laid a hand on his nephew's shoulder, speaking gently "kutsurogimasu".

"Juubun!" the officer answered curtly without shifting his gaze, shaking his uncle's hand off. The uncle was disappointed, but ultimately understanding. He was ultimately there as a mentor and guide to the boy, and would support and assist whatever decision his nephew made to the best of his ability. The officer's watch shifted leftward as the source of the goat-herd's fright came into view.

A brief, fuzzy lack of focus, and then he saw them. Two figures, in dark brown clothing, clinging onto the horns of two goats and trying very hard not to be flung off. It was too far distant to make out many details, but even if he couldn't see it, he could tell the two of them were having the time of their lives. A flash of envy crossed the officer's mind, but he kept his eye on the figures themselves, and pieced together the details meticulously and logically. One had long brown hair, a female, but the other was completely bald. His skin tone was light even from this distance, and he looked evidently like he wasn't from around here. He was remarkably spry, but there was no mistaking who that could have been.

The officer tore his eye away from the telescope and snapped it shut determinedly. The sun was hugging the crest of the Baintsagan Heights, and it would soon be nightfall. Soon it would be time, but now his chances of success had raised substantially. He not only knew that what he was looking for was in the village, but he had discovered something even more important. Now he knew what it looked like.

* * *

The two were finding it hard to stand up straight from all the laughing they were inflicting upon themselves. The last glimpse of sun had vanished from the hill-top, but they were long since past caring. Their hands were sore from gripping horns, their knees and elbows grazed from all the rocks they were flung at, their backsides had gone numb and felt like they'd fallen off of their bodies, and they couldn't be happier. They had secured the goat pen with some effort, and made their way towards the wooden hut that passed for the Hakoday's home. The windows flared with dim candle-light, and as Aang and Katara stumbled through the front holding onto to each other to keep one another from falling over, they knew that nothing could possibly bring them down from the immense high they were feeling.

"_What do you think you are doing!?_" Gran-Gran's stern voice seared the air and bludgeoned all trace of humour from Katara's body, jolting her upright in white-faced fear. Aang was similarly jolted, though more into guilt than sheer terror, and stood on his own two feet carefully. Aang looked from Gran-Gran's icy stare to Katara's wide-eyed frightfulness, uncertain as to what he should do, while the Hakodaya didn't dare tear her eyes away from her grandmother's. Gran-Gran let the gravity of the situation sink in before elaborating, sitting still and tense on a cushion, on the other side of a very, very empty mat, "you were supposed to start dinner hours ago. Now you'll have to go without supper tonight."

"But..." Katara steeled herself to blurt out a protest, "but Gran-Gran! We were just herding the goats back-"

"Not another word, granddaughter," Gran-Gran stood up from her seat and wandered across the bare mat, stiffening her posture, "Solongo has already told me what happened. Herding the goats was her responsibility, not yours. And from the sounds of things, you didn't even take _that _responsibility seriously. Everyone has a place in running this village, and you have wilfully neglected yours. That is inexcusable, Katara."

"But I..." Katara trailed off, coming close to tears from Gran-Gran's chastisement. Aang couldn't stand by while this was going on.

"But it's not her fault!" Aang came to Katara's defence, "it's mine! I dragged her into it! I'm the one who suggested riding the goats. I didn't mean anything bad by it, I just didn't know any better. I'm sorry."

"_You_ didn't know any better, but _Katara _certainly did," Gran-Gran dismissed Aang's defence, "she'll have to make up for it tomorrow. In the mean-time I'd suggest you keep yourself to yourself from now on, boy, until such time as you're able to leave. Our hospitality only extends so far." Gran-Gran silenced Katara's attempt to intervene on Aang's behalf with a well-targeted glare, "and don't even think about talking back to your elders, young lady."

Katara's head hung low in defeat, and her objections expired in her throat. "I understand," she croaked. Aang didn't make any such verbal admissions of defeat, crossing his arms sullenly in defiance. A sharp glare from the grandmother dented the defiance somewhat, but only because he had a pertinent question to ask.

"Uh...I don't want to get in the way, so...I know I was in Sokka's bed before-" Aang tried hard to formulate the question as inoffensively as possible, but Gran-Gran denied him the chance.

"You can sleep in the attic," the elder declared firmly, "away where you can't cause any more damage to this community."

"Gran-Gran! That's-" Katara began to protest, but another icy glance silenced her. Her head bowed lower.

"You can spend tonight contemplating your transgressions while we meditate," Gran-Gran addressed the young woman, turning back to Aang, "and you must need your sleep after such a busy day, child."

The elder made it clear that neither of these statements were _requests_, and both nodded reluctantly. Aang took it upon himself to collect together a blanket and his satchel, and slung both across his shoulder as he climbed a nearby ladder that led into the wooden ceiling. It felt like the old woman's eyes were burrowing into the back of his skull the whole time, and didn't budge until Aang gently shut the attic door, cutting off the candle-light and letting only small slits of brightness through the floorboards.

The roof itself was thatched, with little protection against the elements, but in the warm summer evening it was comfortable enough to sleep in. Aang laid the blanket down and laid on top of it, lying back with his head resting on his hands to think. The old woman below had begun moving as soon as he was out of sight, gathering things together onto the floor. The gaps in the floorboard were too tight to allow Aang to see what was going on, but after a while the smell of incense crept through, along with the clinking of beads. He could only hear Gran-Gran moving at first, but Katara reluctantly followed after a while, wordlessly.

Meditating.

It sounded like a good idea at that moment. It was interesting to see how people managed it from one region to the next, as he had witnessed in his travels. The folk methods Gran-Gran was using must have been passed down through generations, to aid in reaching a state conducive to contemplating existence, and the emptiness that all life came from, and must eventually return to. As a monk, he didn't need any aids to meditate with. All he needed was some space to himself and he was a one-man meditating tool.

Still, as the gentle chants began to drift through the wooden slats...blunt and coarse in the old woman's case, but gentle and soothing when coming from the young nurse's voice...it felt comforting to have them there. It was usually taught that it was better to meditate alone, without prompt. But there were still times when others were joining in, even when out of sight, that made it that much less a lonesome experience. A thought crossed Aang's mind: even though they were supposed to reject worldly attachments and personal relationships, in a way it helped to realise that everyone ultimately came from and would return to the same place when one thought about the kinship people shared in life. What happened just now was an abrupt reminder of the first pronouncement of the Buddha Guatama that 'all life was suffering', but suffering it with others made the whole process of living an infinitely more worthwhile exercise.

Aang realised that his thoughts were starting to tumble around in circles, so he decided to kick off his boots and get himself into a position more suitable for philosophical thinking. The smell of incense, sound of beads clinking and gentle chanting voices helped as soothing background noise, while the dark surroundings and the patterns the candle-light made on the thatched roof were useful in building atmosphere, and he assumed for sake of convenience that Katara and Gran-Gran had formed a _mandala _between them. The blanket turned into a rudimentary mat, and he sat up cross-legged upon it, forming a gesture, or _mudra_, with his arms. Elbows resting on knees. Hands resting in his lap. The back of his right hand resting in the palm of his left. Thumbs touching. Head slightly bowed. Eyes closed.

Aang tried to visualise the infinite, and began to recite a _mantra_, quietly.

* * *

The young Lieutenant was shaken awake by the sudden burst of activity in his headphones. He rose up from his position inside the cramped vehicle, and lifted his spectacles briefly to rub his eyes into alertness, fiddling with the glasses in order to properly study the undulating graph rising and lowering on the complex instrument. He clamped the headphones onto his ears harder, making sure there was no mistake. The pattern had never acted in this way before. The bandwidth was screeching and roaring with activity, the signal blaring more brightly than anything had ever done in the wavelength he'd studied all his adult life. His jaw dropped at the implications. Reality was shifting, and he could see it changing before his very eyes.

"_Shosa-sama!_" the Lieutenant wailed in shock, calling his superior, "_Shosa-sama!_"

The teenage officer snapped his gaze away from the village to respond to his signal-man's hails. Striding assertively, he poked his head around into the open rear of the truck and listened closely to the signal. The technician explained. The margin of error that had dogged them for years had narrowed spectacularly, by a factor of well over a thousand, so that it had become for all intents and purposes non-existent. The signal had increased in strength by such a massive degree that it had breached the tetrahertz level for the first time in all the years he'd studied it. There was no longer the need to make a best-guess estimate for a single lonely spike nestled inside mountains of background radiation. The source could now be targeted to within a few yards.

The scarred officer looked back up out of the truck at the village, freshly invigorated. The light had not yet faded from the wide cloudless sky, but he knew he couldn't afford to wait until night-fall proper. There would never be a better chance than now. He bellowed to his troops, "junbi shimasu!"

They broke out of their collective rest and scurried into their positions. The vehicle engines roared back into life and various soldiers double-checked the state of their weapons. After many hours of restless anticipation, they prepared to begin the operation.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Last of the calm before the storm, if the last part is any indication. The next two instalments will be positively _bursting _with activity, and Sokka makes a very welcome return. I've noticed that when Sokka's on the page, things seem monumentally...funnier. I'm making a mental note to include him more, just to lighten the oppressive mood somehow.

Anyway, that's for tomorrow. For now...goats! Oh, by the way, the prayer Aang recites is an actual Tibetan prayer. You can see where a lot of 'endless sky' poetics comes from. And yes, it's other people's work, but I like to weave little details in like this, especially for a period work that demands real-life references. The internet is my friend. :)


	6. Pt 1 Ch 6: Koogeki

The moon was high that night. Which was fortuitously apt from Sokka's point of view.

The walls of the barn flickered yellow in the lamp-light, as Sokka peered out of a small opening towards the river, ostensibly on night watch duty. 'Ostensibly' was the word, since he quickly headed over to another opening that looked out at the village clearing, checking to see if anyone else was out. Confident that everyone was safely tucked indoors..._including _the nosy little superstitious upstart that had made the day a misery...he smiled devilishly and tip-toed over to a locked hay bin, for which only he had the key. Unlocking it, he lifted the lid fully open and gingerly removed a very modern piece of machinery from inside, handling the strange box with a flower-shaped tube on top like a sacred relic.

The soldier, rifle still slung over his shoulder, placed the gramophone atop a stack of hay, carefully positioning it safely and securely and unfolding the speaker on top. Looking around to make sure no one was seeing what he was up to, he grinned hungrily as he whipped the large white envelope out of his coat and carefully slid a smooth, shiny, black disc out of it. Sokka couldn't read what was printed on the paper circle in the centre, but if he could it would have read: '_How High the Moon. _Benny Goodman. Music & Lyrics by Morgan Lewis & Nancy Hamilton.' He flipped the disc around and stuck his tongue out as he slotted the black, etched recording onto the circular rubber stand. The gramophone looked like it was built to handle records a great deal larger than the single Sokka had acquired, but when you're just one country bumpkin you're happy with what you get.

Sokka grinned toothily while winding up the device, and his index finger pushed the needle gently to the edge of the record, which was already spinning. The barn filled with crackles and pops, and the militiaman stepped away to give himself room enough to allow the spirit of swing to fill his pores. With a blare of trumpets and a roll of drums, the song burst into being.

_Somewhere there's music,  
How faint the tune!  
Somewhere there's heaven,  
How high the moon!_

Sokka couldn't understand a word the deep-throated female singer sang, but that didn't matter in the slightest. It was all in the rhythm, a frenzy of improvised bass and string that could've propelled a geriatric into doing backflips. It was the sound of civilisation, depraved and bourgeois and exciting beyond anything in the farmboy's experience. Sokka closed his eyes and allowed the music to lift him up and bounce him along like a trampoline. The militiaman held his arms out and began to twirl excitedly, imagining that he had a beautiful girl grasping his hands.

_There is no moon above  
When love is far away too,  
Till it comes true  
That you love me as I love you._

He imagined holding some urbane city girl from Alabama or...wherever the hell urbane city girls came from. That was one of the many myriad reasons he felt bitter about being left behind by all the men of the village. While the other young men of the village above his age were busily working their way through every available young woman in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe, he was stuck having to care for the unmarried girls of Usutai...every single one of whom was as dull as dishwater and looked like they'd been run over by a T-34.

_Somewhere there's music,  
It's where you are.  
Somewhere there's heaven,  
How near, how far!_

He flicked his arm out wide, and the imaginary girl of his dreams twirled under his hand before rushing back in to grab his other hand, drawing close to his face. It was something he'd seen in a movie. It was one of maybe five movies he'd seen in his entire life, when he travelled to Bayun Tumen on his seasonal supply trip. Of course, every single one of them had been illegal beyond belief, but Oyunbileg had a way of taking the mickey behind legality's back. It was through a chance conversation that he'd been exposed to that _other _land of the future, across the oceans to a place where people burnt diamonds instead of coal, where shining towers sliced the sky like vertical fish-knives and where street lights and the honks and screeches of automobiles turned night into day.

_The darkest night would shine  
If you would come to me soon.  
Until you will, how still my heart,  
How high the moon!_

Once every three months, he would hand over another of his 'special treats', skulk into an underground picture house, and be transported to a world beyond his wildest dreams. A world where funky tunes like this were the soundtrack. As the crashes, bangs and whoops wound to a rousing close, Sokka leaned over his city girlfriend to give the closing kiss...

...except he never gave one, because she didn't exist.

The needle thunked gently against the metal pole that poked out of the centre of the record. The barn was filled with the sounds of scraping and scratching, magnified by the tubular speaker. Sokka sagged, and for the hundredth time that day felt like a nobody doing nothing and living a million miles from nowhere. The gramophone gradually wound down into silence, and the handle stopped turning.

The soldier wandered back to the opening and leant on the sill to stare at the moon hanging over the east. He wondered if it was the same moon hanging over New York or New Orleans or somewhere in the land of the future called 'new' something. His logical mind told him otherwise, but he believed it were all the same. Never let it be said that he didn't believe in anything, for Sokka believed in a powerful thing called the future. He had to have faith in it, because from where he stood it felt as much like a witless superstition as any god he cared to imagine.

He pushed himself away from the window and dragged his body across unwillingly to the gramophone, winding it up again and replacing the needle at the edge of the record. Sokka Hakoday stepped once again to the centre of the lamp-lit, hay-covered, dance floor...took his city girlfriend in his arms...and swung the night away.

If he'd remained at the opening he might have seen mechanised infantry fording the river, under the moon light and the still-darkening sky.

* * *

Katara tried to focus, palms becoming white with being pressed together so hard, breathing in the incense sharply, beads trailing around her fingers as she rocked back and forth in rhythm, trying to visualise whatever it was she was supposed to be visualising, but she found it impossible to concentrate. Her mind was too troubled to settle into the stream, too hung up on her own worries to allow her ego to disperse. And for some time she was starting to realise that the _mantra _they recited every evening wasn't as helpful to meditation as it was cracked up to be.

"Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum."

They chanted in unison, the same six syllables, each and every night for the past year. It was the classic, the most important _mantra _in all of Vajrayana Buddhism...and possibly Buddhism in general. It was an appeal to visualising the Buddha of Love and Compassion, one of many Buddhas who had achieved enlightenment, in order to follow his example, forestalling transcendence into nirvana and the annihilation of his ego to help enlighten those on Earth. It was also the only _mantra _Gran-Gran knew off the top of her head, and Katara could've killed for some variety.

It couldn't be helped, of course. Gran-Gran was wisened and experienced, but she had never received any training in the ways of Buddhist meditation. She couldn't afford to, with the crackdown. And where beforehand they could have relied on a passing monk to assist them, now they had to make do by themselves. Of course, they had a passing monk to assist them _now_, but maddeningly enough Katara felt obliged to keep his identity secret to Gran-Gran. She didn't know whether knowledge of his monasticism would have improved his standing in her eyes...but she couldn't betray his trust again.

Katara's eyes flicked open to glance at the ceiling. Above the swirling tendrils of incense smoke and the crooked, knot-holed wooden beams, Aang was safely nestled. She couldn't tell what he was doing up there, whether he was listening in, sleeping, or whether he was even still there. She wouldn't have put it past the boy to know a trick or two about slipping out of an enclosed space. She smiled at the thought, but became suddenly self-conscious and fretfully checked to see if Gran-Gran had noticed her slowing down and interrupting herself.

She needn't have worried. Her grandmother was too absorbed in her own chanting to notice Katara's distraction. The old woman possessed a measure of self-control that the young nurse couldn't help but admire. Even though she only knew one _mantra_, even though her _mudra _hand position was completely made-up, and even though her five-pointed _mandala _meditating circle consisted of five random household objects dyed red and distributed haphazardly around them (and one of them was undeniably pinkish in colour). Despite the hokeyness of their ceremony, Gran-Gran could still get herself lost in it, become that much closer to the beyond. Even though her snappy temper and icicle-forming mood was almost always present these days...an attitude hardly appropriate for one trying to visualise the Buddha of 'Love and Compassion'...she was still more spiritually attuned than Katara was.

And even she couldn't get in touch with mother.

Katara screwed her eyes shut and redoubled her chanting, as much to prevent herself tearing up as to get nearer enlightenment. She didn't know why she kept thinking about her mother, when she had long realised it was as good as an automatic switch for turning on the waterworks. But she also had to admit to herself that this was the whole reason she did this every evening. She never did it before the raid. Even Gran-Gran only indulged in it once in a blue moon. But now it was a constant project. For Gran-Gran to make all their troubles disappear. For Katara to reach her mother. Different destinations, same road.

While she indulged in these thoughts, she gradually realised that Gran-Gran was slowing down. The consciousness of this slowed her rocking to a mild swaying and her chanting to an uncertain mumble. She looked at her grandmother and saw her looking up in confusion to the corner of the room. 'Confusion' was a rare and noteworthy emotion to witness on Gran-Gran, compelling Katara to put the beads to one side and lean forward.

"Gran-Gran, what's..." Katara was silenced by a hand wave, as Gran-Gran looked from side to side in deep concentration. The clinking of beads died, and their bodily movements ceased, but instead of complete, heavy silence pouring in, another sound was heard instead. It was close to inaudible, but got louder all the time.

The sound was bizarre, in that it didn't act in ways sound was supposed to act. It didn't come from anywhere in particular, as if it emerged spontaneously in their ears. Katara experimentally tried covering her ears, but the sound remained the same pitch. As it got louder it began to take shape. It was a distant voice, speaking lightly and assuredly.

"Dusum sangye guru rinpoche ngodrup kundak dewa chenpo shab barche kunsel dudul drakpo tsel solwa debsoi chingyi lab du sol chi nang sangwei barche shiwa dang sampa lhungy drupar chingyilob..."

It took a while, and some upward notches in volume, to realise the words were being repeated in a continuous loop. It was a Buddhist chant, but not any she recognised. The voice was definitely familiar, but the pronunciation so utterly alien that she had a hard time pinning down who it was. The words were gibberish to her, but Gran-Gran's growing look of amazement seemed to indicate that she knew of it. Katara looked across quizzically.

"What is it?" she leaned across, looking around one more time. She paused halfway across and fell onto her back, gasping at what she saw. She pointed up, unable to articulate what she was seeing, but Gran-Gran had enough wits about her to stand up and look closer at the amazing sight unfolding above their heads while they were looking around the room.

The incense smoke had curled around and merged into a huge circle, whirling wispily and violently around the room. They formed a giant hole in the centre, in the middle of which was a section of bare wooden ceiling. Katara stared wide-eyed, knowing that sitting on top of that ceiling, above that circle of smoke, was Aang Anil.

* * *

At first Sokka thought it was a problem with the gramophone. But after switching it off he found that niggling, annoying little noise was simply getting more niggling and annoying. Not being able to determine a source, he jammed a pinky into his ear hole and wiggled furiously. That annoying buzz still didn't go away. It sounded like a radio station badly tuned to a horde of bees.

So closely concentrated was he on this individual sound that the sudden roar of distressed goats and the awesome crack of wooden fences being ripped apart by metal shocked him absolutely witless. The militiaman's rifle flew off his shoulder and straight into his trigger hand as he sprinted across the barn floor and used his free hand to propel himself onto the gallery beneath the open window in a single bound. Rushed with adrenaline, he took aim on the sill and flicked off the safety, reaching the opening just soon enough to witness a six-wheeled armoured car burst through the inner fence of the goat pen and brake vigorously to a halt in the centre of the yard, followed by three flat-fronted trucks rushing through the gap at high speed, in turn braking and twisting in a well-practised assault routine. On every vehicle, emblazoned in a small square painted on their sides, was the flag of the Rising Sun.

The turret on the armoured car swivelled in Sokka's direction, and he only had a split second to get over his terror and fall back off of the raised gallery. He fell flat on his back and brought his hands to his face as part of the wooden wall was ripped into splinters by heavy machine gun fire. Quickly recovering his nerve, Sokka ran with one hand gripping his rifle and the other hand withdrawing a whistle from his belt pack. He blew until his face was purple.

"_WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! MOBILISE, PEOPLE! MOBILISE!"_

* * *

Katara was on her feet now, spurred into hyperactivity by the noises erupting around them. Thinking quickly, she rushed over to blow out the candles, dousing any light that could give them away and throwing them into complete darkness. Gran-Gran quickly cleared the table of anything on it and with Katara's help tipped it over, providing some meagre cover for themselves. But as Katara rushed over to the ladder to help Aang down, she realised with a creeping horror that the chant in their ears was continuing unabated.

"Aang! We need to take cover!" Katara yelled. She gripped the sides of the ladder forcefully and shook it in an insane hope that this would catch the boy's attention. She pleaded, "Aang! Please! You gotta get out of there!"

* * *

Time disappeared.

"_Dusum sangye guru rinpoche ngodrup kundak dewa chenpo shab barche kunsel dudul drakpo tsel solwa debsoi chingyi lab du sol chi nang sangwei barche shiwa dang s__ampa lhungy drupar chingyilob..._"

Aang was barely aware of himself by now. He couldn't even tell he was chanting. If he could, he would undoubtedly be creeped out by how he was chanting even though his lips were shut tightly. But at this point he was far beyond his physical shell. The noises, crashes, and bursts of gunfire were happening in an insignificantly tiny part of the world, during an indescribably miniscule length of time. His meditating became almost incidental as he chanted:

"_Precious Guide, One with all the Buddhas of the past, present and future, Blissful presence and source of all spiritual accomplishments, Fierce destroyer of illusion who dispels every obstruction, We pray to you for blessing and inspiration: Please remove all outer, inner and secret obstacles __And spontaneously fulfil all our aspirations._"

The dust in the air separated as a negative space filled the room. Aang could feel everywhere...and nowhere. The cries of a young Mongolian girl went unheard, many worlds away.

* * *

"_Aang! Aang!_" Katara cried to no avail. She almost pulled the ladder with her as Gran-Gran pulled her back behind the table, cradling her fiercely.

"It's no use, child! He'll have to take care of himself!" her grandmother appealed. Katara heard the words but was unable to listen. She couldn't let it happen again.

But it was happening again, as she heard something that sent her skin crawling, her body into a foetal ball, sweating coldly into the dark blue air. It was a sound she never wanted to hear again, but still heard a thousand times in her dreams.

"_Koogeki!_" the officer cried.

"_KOOGEKI!_" the troops roared.

* * *

Sokka was not in the mood for fiddling with keys...the padlock snapped off on the second thump of the rifle butt. The storage box was built into the back of the barn, and the soldier tore the lid open to grab at the service rifles nestled within. There were only five for the whole village, and he practically kept his one under the pillow. They were also lacking ammo. Ever since Khongi got half her ear shot off while goofing around one evening, it had been agreed that the guns and the ammunition would be kept apart until needed. Thankfully, they had a system sorted out. Captain Sokka, naturally, had an ammo pack on him at all times, and would keep the attackers busy while the rest of the militia mobilised. As soon as the flare went up, Private Odgerel would rush over and retrieve the ammunition from around the back of the Hakoday hut, and supply them when all the militiamen lined up for duty and collected their rifles. With so few weapons between them, Sokka had planned to use that to their advantage. Firing behind cover, and ducking out of sight, they'd draw the attackers in and overpower them at close quarters, since having only one rifle firing with five people in each unit would lead the enemy to underestimating their strength and going in undermanned.

It sounded good in theory.

"_Hayaku! Hayaku!_" a soldier yelled gutturally around the corner from Sokka. He kept his eyes on what was in front of him, ignoring that incessant background buzz that still annoyed him. Just as he began picking out the weapons, a few straggling children emerged out of the dark, their approach caught in snap-shot silhouettes by the muzzle-flashes of Japanese weaponry in the night air. As they approached Sokka, some practically threw themselves at the ground as they made it behind the barn wall.

Sokka did a quick head-count. Seven. Including himself. The rest undoubtedly cowering in their homes, and the ones that were here weren't even the good shots. As much as the soldier was relieved that Odgerel was with them, that still left his 'fish bait' strategy looking like wishful thinking. Some paused to catch their breath while a couple remained flat and trembling against the ground. One mouse-haired boy named Cholon rushed forward, shaking with hysterics, "what do we do, Sokka!? What do we do!? What do we do!?"

"You _know _what to do!" Sokka shouted tersely, chucking a rifle into Cholon's pleading arms, almost sending him backwards, "and that's _Captain _Sokka, ya dumb brat! We need to catch 'em in a cross-fire! I'll draw their fire to the barn, you guys go around and shoot at them from the other side of the yard! Use the darkness!"

"But..." the kid stared at the rifle in trepidation, "...but...I...I...never shot no one before..."

"Neither have I, soldier! It's called education!" Sokka handed the rifles to the rest of the kids. One grabbed two of them and handed one to the boy still lying on the ground. Sokka turned to Odgerel, who was waiting eagerly for instructions, "okay, Private! Hand out the ammo!"

Odgerel's eagerness vanished, and his face turned ashen pale. Sokka took the expression with a sinking feeling in his stomach, "you didn't get the ammo, did you?" Odgerel didn't respond, as the sheer, awesome, potentially fatal gravity of the situation fell on him like a ton of bricks. He began tearing up, succumbing to blind, senseless terror. Sokka just rolled his eyes and groaned. The militia leader was just as terrified, but too pumped with adrenaline to consciously register it. His adrenaline surged even more when chunks of the corner of the barn spat off courtesy of a loud burst of gun-fire.

"_Asoko!_" someone yelled at fever-pitch. A few of the kids crouched down to scream, one dropped his rifle and the one boy who had just got back up off the ground fell back onto it again. Sokka flinched, but immediately sprang into action, flattening his side against the wall of the barn and aiming just around the corner, letting off a round blindly in the direction of the Japanese vehicles. He managed to re-cock the rifle twice more, letting off two more rounds, before another burst of gunfire forced him to fling back around the corner.

"Okay, men, change of plan!" Sokka ordered in-between gasps, "I draw their fire while you guys escort the Private here to actually _pick up the ammunition _this time, and _then _shoot at them from the other side of the yard!"

"Someone needs to stay here! Watch your back!" Solongo piped up, the one steady presence amongst the kids.

"Good thinking, Private Solon-" Sokka whirled around in shock at the little girl's voice, "uh...whuh...what the hell!?"

"My brother ducked under the bed! What was I supposed to do!?" Solongo protested, fists clenched fiercely and eyes bulging maniacally. Sokka wasn't sure whether it was adrenaline or insanity that compensated for her sheer terror. The girl went on, "I can fight!"

"Sure you can!" Sokka begrudgingly retreated. There wasn't the time for nonsense like this, "you just...stay here while the guys do their thing, 'kay!?"

Sokka re-cocked the rifle, and another spent casing bounced off the ground. He steeled himself and commanded, "you guys ready!? Okay!? _Go!_"

Sokka spun around the corner again to fire at the assembled vehicles sitting with engines revving in the centre of the yard. His militia fanned out behind him, disappearing into the darkness while the Japanese troops took cover from the blind rifle fire. For a few moments, in-between his sights, Sokka could see what was going on in the yard. Japanese infantry were leaping out the trucks and running to every corner to secure the grounds.

"_O__odan shimasu! O__odan shimasu! Motto hayaku!_" they shouted. Sokka had no idea what it meant beyond 'general battle sounds', but the tempo of the operation continued at a bewildering pace, more like choreography than battle. In the middle of it all, just for a second, he caught a glimpse of a man in glasses, leaning back against the AC for protection while waving around some kind of device that crackled and buzzed...and strangely enough it sounded similar to the background buzz he had long since ignored.

Crouched near the radiator close to the man with the buzzing box was a tall youth in officer garb. Steely eyes, one of which was scarred, focused straight on Sokka, and the teenager aimed a black-painted revolver and fired at him. Bullets sunk into the barn's wooden wall, and Sokka could hear the lead whistling through the air next to his head as he spun around and took cover again.

A shower of splinters flew around the corner, and Sokka found as he waited that two arms were clinging tightly to one of his legs. He looked down to see Solongo gripping harshly, mouth trembling and eyes wide with incomprehension, muttering "why do they do this? We didn't done nuthin'! _Why do they do this!?_" Sokka was too pre-occupied to answer. He pulled out a ribbon of five bullets from his belt pack, opened the gun chamber with a flick of a spent shell, and reloaded.

* * *

The machine gun seared the air, vapour floating off of the super-heated barrel. The dark night was interspersed with instantaneous flashes, and with each flash the scarred face was lit and shadowed in sharp relief.

"Doko!?" the officer snapped to the Lieutenant. He rubbed his ear impatiently, as the never-ending buzzing grew stronger. He had a fairly good idea what was causing it, but couldn't tell _where_. And _that _was the most important part of this whole escapade. The spectacle-wearing Lieutenant waved the free part of the instrument around, and the signal grew and shrank with each wave. After a brief burst of static and some frantic re-tuning, the soldier paused excitedly and looked down carefully at the readings. This was an impossible signal. Compatible with the laws of physics, perhaps, but still utterly bizarre. And it was right in front of him.

The technician looked up at the wooden door and uttered, "koko."

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **The tempo's really being ratcheted up this chapter, and will remain very much up in the next chapter. If you're getting tired of the badly-translated Japanese interspersing the battles, then no need to worry, it'll largely disappear come next chapter. It's here to keep things _authentic_, don'tcha know, a real world matter of languages handily skipped around by a plot device that'll become evident by next chapter. 

'How High The Moon' is available on disc, actually. There's a cover of it by Ellen Fitzgerald ( I _think _that's her name). I'm probably breaching tons of copyright by reproducing the lyrics here, but it's not like you can't find them on the internet anyway. I just wanted a song to capture the spirit of this first leg of the saga. 'Things are happening so far away from here they might as well be on the moon'. The two Buddhist chants are also authentic...mostly. I'm winging a lot of it so there's inevitably going to be anachronisms up the wazoo. Nothing to fear!


	7. Pt 1 Ch 7: Heist

Gran-Gran and Katara huddled close as an army boot busted the door in. Soldiers bulldozed into their home, paying no heed to anything they stepped on as they scouted the corners of the sizeable hut and secured the room. They didn't dare look out from their hiding place behind the table as armed men traipsed around, becoming accustomed to the dark interior. They couldn't tell how silent they were, as the chanting continued to fill their ears with a cacophony. Katara risked a peek and saw no one off the left side of the table, and hoped against all reason that they wouldn't find a couple of civilians hiding behind a tipped-over table at the edge of an incense-stinking, currently-used home.

"_Teki!_" a man yelled behind her, bringing her to fling herself back in fright at the bulky man above them both, rifle aimed and primed to fire.

"Yameru!" the officer ordered, and the soldier reluctantly lowered the rifle, apparently given the order not to fire. The man backed away respectfully, as footsteps approached. Lighter than the others, but less wary. They sounded like the footsteps of an important man. Katara breathed raggedly, not being able to see around, and shook uncontrollably as she recalled how she heard her mother die. In the corner of her eye, under the covers, seeing nothing but two feet struggling one moment, still the next. And the footsteps.

A black glove gripped the top of their wooden protection, and the table disappeared in a mighty crash. It was flung aside by a man, in the uniform of a Japanese commanding officer, a comet-shaped scar covering half his face. Katara was shocked at how young he was, but was paralysed by his cold stare. It was a stare far older than the eyes it saw through.

Katara instinctively pressed her palms against her ears as the chanting became razor-edged. Huddling closer to Gran-Gran, she briefly glimpsed the young officer wincing as well, though far more alertedly. The scarred teenager looked around with gritted teeth, his hand brought up to his ear. The hand flew up to his cap to prevent it blowing off as a freak gust of wind burst through the hut.

Gran-Gran brought an arm round Katara to shield her from the wind. After a short while they both realised that the wind was picking up _inside _the hut. Pots and cloth flew across the floor, hugging the wall in a circle, while the soldiers looked warily around, trying to figure out what was going on. The officer apparently knew already as he called out "Gakki-San! Bareru!"

A spectacle-wearing technician, the first Katara had seen of him, rushed through the door and fiddled with his crackling instrument, waving the free part in circles around the room, trying to find a lock on the signal that rose and fell with every movement the reader made. The man...Gakki...was short, badly nourished and didn't look the soldierly type, but he still acted in complete professionalism. After some moments of waving over the area where the signal seemed strongest, but still comparatively weaker than before, he slowly realised what was up and pointed the instrument straight upwards, into the centre of the growing maelstrom.

"Soko! Aizumoto soko!"

* * *

The negative space was disrupting the air around Aang, trying to occupy a space that was there and wasn't there simultaneously. The air around Aang was completely still by contrast, undisturbed by the troubles going on 'outside'. Aang's awareness was slowly creeping back from its lofty distance, but it had a hard time determining what on Earth it was supposed to return _to. _In the threads and strands of time and space, it was hard to piece together those disparate parts that represented 'Aang'. He wasn't entirely aware of what he was doing, and delving into the infinite felt like a dream, a sub-conscious imagining. Nothing had solidity, and his memories were all jumbled up into a turgid mess of experiences. The most he was aware of was a growing feeling that he should get back to whoever he was. It felt like someone was calling him.

Confused as to where he ended and the rest of existence began, he took a best guess as to which thread had once constituted _him_, and tugged.

Time reappeared.

Aang reconstituted himself a piece at a time. As he recalled the textures he felt, he began to feel his thumbs touching each other, the blanket cushioning his behind and the carpet underneath his toes. As he remembered the sounds he heard, he came to hear the distant sounds of crashes and gunfire, and more distant sounds of wheels clattering down roads and feet clacking on pavement. And finally as he recovered the sights he'd seen, he could see a dim yellow light from beneath his eye lids. As he re-located himself in the world, he became puzzled, as he didn't remember the attic having a light in it.

The monk's eyes snapped open, and he quickly had to blink repeatedly to make sure they were working right. He could see two different places, faded and laid over each other. On the one hand, he could see the far side of the Hakodays' attic. On the other hand, he could also see a spacious, well decorated bedroom, built in a bizarre hybrid style with Chinese architecture and a decidedly western four-poster bed. Bulbs jutting out of the four walls were the source of yellow light, all of which looked weird to Aang as they weren't actually '_lit_' like candles, but simply glowed. He was fascinated enough by the architectural oddities that he overlooked the lump underneath the white blankets of the bed.

A gun burst went off, unlike any Aang had ever heard, sounding more like lightning than anything man-made. That made him jump, but what really scared him was the moment when the lump in the bed-sheets sprang up and spontaneously developed a head. It was a girl, around the same age as Aang, with a tiny frame under a white night-gown, a round face, and pitch-black hair poking out everywhere as she suffered from grievous bed-head. She pounced forward in alertness, palms buried in the bed covers as she leant forward.

"Ni shi shei!?" she demanded. Aang recognised it as Mandarin Chinese, and wondered initially how a half-invisible Chinese girl and her half-invisible bedroom had materialised into Katara's now half-invisible attic. A greater mystery emerged however, as she turned her head left and right, asking if someone was there and yet not seeing Aang right in front of her. She could obviously _hear _him, but her pale green eyes with pale green irises didn't seem to be _looking _at anything. They just illustrated that she was wide awake and very, very angry. The girl snarled, "I know there's someone there, you sneak! You don't scare me! _Who's there!?_"

Aang was about to answer politely that he didn't mean any harm, until the attic door burst open behind him. Both he and the Chinese girl flinched at the sound, but the girl faded out in front of Aang's eyes before the Tibetan boy could respond. Now the attic was whole again, with gun-fire going off beyond the roof, no light beneath the ceiling boards, and the sounds of highly-strung Japanese people scurrying with great urgency. The boy gathered the sinking feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Aang peered around at the person behind him. Another one he hadn't seen before, but altogether more unsettling than the girl he'd briefly seen. It was a young man in higher military uniform, his sharp face half-scarred with a massive burn mark and standing astride the attic trap-door with pistol in hand, looking at him with an expression at once reverent and angry. Aang hesitated to move or speak, unsure how to respond to this intruder, as that look on the man's face just on seeing him unnerved the Tibetan into believing the officer knew exactly who Aang was.

"Qoghusula..." the Major Zuko Hinaga gasped, utter certainty dripping from his lips. That name, and the mouth that spoke it, chilled Aang to the bone. Others knew what he was. Others who would invade nations just to get what he represented. 50 years removed and he still couldn't get away from that name. Aang turned frightfully towards Zuko, who looked the boy up and down, studying carefully. Confusion, and then derision crept into his voice "...-kun..."

A lot of Aang's fear evaporated as he took offence at the Japanese teenager belittling him with a little boy's suffix. "Hey, you're only a few years older than me-"

Aang flinched into silence when Zuko fired his hand-gun above his into the roof. Aiming the pistol back at the boy, he flicked it twice towards the ladder, commanding "I've waited years for this moment. I don't take kindly to people making me wait longer. Move."

* * *

The elderly man named Iroh Hinaga drummed the edge of the deserted work surface nestled inside the armoured car, wincing as the machine gun thundered another round of bullets into thin air. The noise was giving him a head-ache. He was starting to wish he'd saved some of those plant leaves he'd sketched earlier to make some herbal remedy from. It was getting so hot and stuffy in the confines of the vehicle that he doubted he'd need a kettle. Just letting a cup of water sit there for a couple of minutes would be enough to make a soothing cup of chai from.

So it came to this, Iroh thought as he rubbed his head. It took a fair amount to get him anxious, but being in blatant breach of treaty obligations and all international law had that effect on an old man's nerves. Zuko's men were good men, professional, measured...able to avoid major bloodshed so long as his nephew kept an eye on them. What worried Iroh more was that, even with many hours to reconsider his options, Zuko still didn't have a second thought about violating the border, even when he knew that if he stayed longer than half an hour the entire Red Army would descend on him like a pack of vultures. His single-mindedness will be the death of him, Iroh decided.

A moment later, Zuko's uncle dipped into his breast pocket, pulling out a pipe and a small box of tobacco he'd forgotten was there, smiling wistfully. Iroh remembered when he was that single-minded, a young man in another war. Another age. When he wasn't the sort of person who'd forget he had prize tobacco in his uniform. Ugly habit at his age, he knew, but who could blame him with a racket like this? He took heart. Maybe once he brought the Qoghusula back, he'd start thinking more seriously about his priorities...

Iroh's pipe-stuffing practice was interrupted by another burst of machine gun fire. Annoyed, Iroh protested to the gunner, "couldn't you...turn that dratted thing down or something?"

"Sorry sir," the gunner informed the retired man respectfully "that would impair its operation."

"Egh..." Iroh sneered, striking a match against the interior and leaning back to enjoy the fruit of his labours.

* * *

The chanting in their ears had died down, and the silence that followed was filled with the unnerving sound of gun-fire from outside and their own harsh breathing. Tension filled the room, and the loud gun shot earlier had Katara fearing the worst. She was visibly relieved when Aang emerged at the top of the ladder, climbing down morosely. The boy was prodded down the steep ladder to hurry him up, and his bare feet tripped over the last three steps to fall flat on the floor.

"Aang!" Instinct overtook Katara, tearing out of Gran-Gran's hands to run over and help Aang to his knees. The sound of half a dozen rifles cocking and Japanese soldiers sharply ordering the girl to get back accompanied her action. Defensively, she shifted her body to protect Aang's, bracing for the shots, while the Tibetan grew agitated. From halfway up the ladder, Zuko's voice cut through the soldiers' natterings.

"_Hold your fire!_" the Major commanded the alerted troops, and the rifles sank. Zuko stepped onto the floor and stood over the two of them, huddled close together. While Katara was still clutching closely, Aang was peering up at the steel-faced teenager with uncertain eyes. Zuko sneered, "I should've known you'd be the kind to hide behind the innocent."

The comment stun Aang. He could hear the gun-fire outside, see the effects his mere presence was having on the place. He'd brought this on the tiny settlement. There seemed only one obvious thing to do. Aang spoke quietly, "...Katara."

Katara's eyes blinked open, and she leant back to hear what Aang had to say. He spoke in Mongolian, carefully and methodically, steeling himself up for what was to come. Katara shook her head at Aang's speech, looking like she was protesting, but Aang smiled weakly, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. She didn't accept it, but her grip lessened, a bit at a time. Zuko waited patiently, hand on hip, telling from their body language what the boy...Aang...was up to. A momentary, tight, tearful hug later and Aang was ready to stand, turn and face Zuko, all uncertainty gone, "I'll come quietly."

Zuko acknowledged, and gripped Aang's willing shoulder. He called loudly, "_we got what we came for! Prepare to withdraw!_" The soldiers complied, stepping carefully and keeping a close aim on the hut's occupants in case of surprises. Katara had second thoughts almost immediately, and began getting up to get Aang back, but Gran-Gran stayed her progress. "There's nothing we can do, child," she comforted the crying girl, "there's nothing we can do..."

The last soldier left the hut, leaving them alone in the dark, haunted mess that used to be home.

* * *

"Sokka! They're getting away!" Solongo tugged the militiaman's leg energetically, peering around the corner as snappily as she was capable of, "and they're taking the Tibetan kid with 'em!"

"You gotta be kidding me..." Sokka let off another two rounds, exhausting another clip in the process, just trying to pin them down. He wheeled back around the corner of the barn as another volley of bullets dug into the wooden wall, dipping into his belt pack for another ribbon of bullets. His eyes bulged as his fingers reached the bottom of the pocket with nothing to show for it, "oh you _gotta be kidding me!_"

"Sokka! I said they're getting away!" Solongo jumped up and down.

"_I heard you the first time!_" Sokka snapped, looking around to spy the scarred officer tugging Aang into the armoured car, the spectacles-wearing man ducking in front of the radiator to get to the other side. Other soldiers were retreating back to their trucks, one of which was beginning to drive off. And, of course, no sign whatever of his vaunted 'militia'. Sokka grunted, "where the hell are they!?"

"Do something!" Solongo urged.

Sokka roared in frustration, flinging his rifle into the air with an almighty throw. The ammo-less service rifle spun through a wide arc from the edge of the barn all the way to the Japanese positions...finally thumping Lieutenant Gakki on the head. The technician swayed, dropping his instrument to the ground before keeling over feet first.

Sokka stared incomprehensibly at what he'd done, as did a lot of Japanese soldiers next to the decidedly konked Gakki. The village experienced a brief respite as the fighters paused together to contemplate the utterly absurd thing that just happened. A smile crept across Sokka's face until he couldn't control himself anymore, and burst out laughing. He clamped a hand on his gut as he laughed triumphantly, pointing a taunting finger at the unconscious man. A bearded soldier standing next to the fallen technician looked down, and then across at the laughing Mongolian, eyebrows twisted in disbelief.

Everyone was brought back to reality as rifle rounds kicked up dust around the Japanese soldiers' feet. The shots came from in-between the huts to Sokka's left, as little Private Odgerel had finally collected the ammo stash. Sokka took cover near the ground, while the soldiers rushed back to their trucks at a hastened pace and the thin-bearded Japanese soldier made a move to recover the unconscious technician. "Karenomama!" Zuko ordered from behind the armoured car, and the soldier hesitated, head darting to and fro. Reluctantly, but speedily, the soldier ducked out of the firing line and towards the nearest truck, leaving the technician behind.

The vehicles kicked up dust as they reversed sharply out of the village. Meanwhile, Odgerel poked his head out of the corner of a hut, holding out a box of ammunition and yelling, "Captain Hakoday!"

Sokka pushed himself up and dashed for his rifle as Odgerel threw the ammo box across the yard. Sprinting rapidly, one hand reached down to grab the rifle while the other sprang up to catch the ammo box in mid-air as it flew across his path. Catching both in one swift movement, his knees dug into the yard to slow him down. Jamming a clip into the service rifle, he sprang to his feet and locked and loaded. Peering through the sights, he aimed at the second truck, then the third truck, and finally the armoured car as they disappeared around a curve, Sokka unable to fire a clean shot.

The Japanese had vanished, though he still heard them in the distance, taunting him. Sokka gritted his teeth and screamed in rage, throwing his rifle at the ground hard, making a gun-shaped indentation in the dirt. The militiaman snarled and grunted like a pit bull, angry at being so _humiliated_.

He heard a small groan behind him, and turned to see Gakki, half-conscious, struggling to rub his head painfully while lying face-first in the ground. The militia had stepped out, rifles in hand and utterly lost as to what had just happened. Others also emerged from their homes, hiding while the fighting had been going on and wanting to know what happened. Most affecting of all was Katara, who stepped out through the busted door of the hut and looked at Sokka wearily, crushed. Gran-Gran was resting a hand on Katara's shoulder, and looking at Sokka too, but her face wasn't given enough to emotion to allow Sokka to know what she was thinking. He just exchanged glances with Katara...knowing, educated glances.

The siblings told each other through their eyes...this wasn't over.

* * *

The armoured car rocked violently as it forded the river again, bringing up the rear of the unit and very officially back inside the territory of Manchukuo, the sovereign state allowed to exist by the kind permission of the Japanese military. The hot and stuffy interior cooled in the night air, now very much after dark, but the driver was used to travelling without lights. After a few minutes, safely out of sniper range of the Mongolian border, the lights came on, and for the first time Aang could see his captors properly.

He sat with hands tied together and bare feet swaying above the steel floor, in a seat set into the side of the car next to a bare surface, crossed with wires and ports made out of materials he'd never seen before. A lot of things in this small, cramped space he'd never seen before. For example, when he looked around for a light, he saw those same weird glowy things he'd seen sticking out the walls of the half-invisible girl's room. He'd never seen those before. He sat in a metal vehicle that rode on its own power, like that motorcycle from before except mightily meaner looking. He'd never seen these before. In the alcove on the other side of the car to the left of him was a weird dark grey thing with wheels and metal clicky things and black sticks pointing out all over the place. He'd never even dreamed of it in his wildest imaginings.

As for the people, with the crotchety, scraggly-haired driver in an enclosed alcove facing forward and the gunner on top manning what looked like a long tube with holes in it and a trigger at the end, the only one he could turn to face was the scarred, fierce-looking teenager sitting next to him, eyes transfixed and apparently uninterested in him. No one talked. As wary as Aang felt, the danger of the situation didn't really register. He was just glad his new friends were okay. For now the stony silence was just uncomfortable, and he felt a need to break the ice.

"So...uh..." Aang searched for topics to talk about, "my name's Aang Anil! What are your names?"

Zuko simply scowled at Aang and went back to looking angry. No one else paid much attention. The Tibetan boy realised that it would take a lot for these people to become talkative. Regardless, he was bored and needed someone to talk to.

"Anybody?" Aang ventured, looking from surly soldier to surly soldier without much sense of success. He grinned in an attempt to liven the atmosphere, "c'mon! Cheer up! You got what you wanted, didn'tcha? You got your hands on the one and only Qoghusula in all the world! That's a reason to celebrate isn't it? Or...at least tell me who you are..."

Zuko sighed loudly and rubbed his face. It was going to be a long trip. Behind the both of them something stirred, and Aang twisted his head around to see that the back of the car had been converted into a tiny, yet comfortable-looking, bunk-bed, on which sat a genial looking elderly man cocking his head cheekily at the teenager's, "sorry, two years abroad have done nothing for our manners. His name's Zuko Hinaga."

"Uncle!" Zuko twisted around and berated his relative, "he's a prisoner of the Empire!"

"No reason we can't be civil..." Iroh shrugged, smiling at Aang, "my name's Iroh, by the way. You were very brave back there to give yourself up for the sake of your friends."

Aang wasn't sure how to respond, and decided to play it safe by taking it as a complement, "thanks!" Aang engaged in some momentary deep thought, "I don't suppose you're impressed enough to let me go, are you?"

"You'll have to ask my nephew about that, sonny," Iroh glanced whimsically at Zuko, "I'm just here to keep an eye on him."

Aang looked across at the young officer, whose angry stare somehow managed to get _even angrier_. The Tibetan boy looked away and twiddled his tied up thumbs, "I'll take that as a no..."

The car, apart from the rumble of the engine and some heavy bumps, became uncomfortably silent. Now it was Iroh's turn to feel the need to break the ice, this time with something more serious, "you seem troubled, Zuko. Is Hibiki's fate weighing on your conscience?"

"Lieutenant Gakki is a trained soldier," Zuko glanced aside uncomfortably, "he can take care of himself. And with the Non-Aggression Pact in place, he will probably be extradited soon. He's in no danger."

"Maybe so," Iroh tugged his beard thoughtfully, "but abandoning him like you did taints your victory."

"And leaving two of my men in the line of fire to both get shot would taint my victory _more_," Zuko dismissed, "this mission is larger than any individual. You know that."

The conversation didn't leave any scope for disagreement, and the scarred boy's mere presence inside the tin can they travelled in seemed to suck all the life out of the surroundings. He wore misery like a fine perfume...it stank all the place.

"See what I have to work with?" Iroh shrugged at Aang, before yawning heavily and leaning back onto his bunk, "now please don't go on any more illegal border raids tonight. I need my beauty sleep."

"That does it..." Zuko declared to the air in front of him, clambering out of his seat and turning to the bunk, "Uncle, man the wireless and keep an eye on the Qoghusula."

Iroh groaned, "do I _have _to?" The elderly man peered up at the stern-faced nephew of his and guessed the answer to his question, "of course I do. Well, no rest for the wicked."

Iroh and Zuko changed places, with the portly man in what could only strictly be called a 'uniform' squeezing himself into the tight alcove where the 'wireless' sat...presumably that weird-looking grey box thingy, grunting as he positioned himself and placed a pair of headphones over his ears, muttering, "I hate these ghost-infested contraptions..."

Zuko lay back in the tiny bunk and rested...although calling scowling at the ceiling 'resting' was a new thing to Aang. He seemed chronically incapable of being calm, a wire perpetually about to snap but _never quite _doing so. Even in his moment of victory he seemed uneasy, troubled. Aang might have discovered more about his personality if a sharp glance in the monk's direction sent Aang's face whizzing forward to hide the fact that he'd been staring.

Thumbs twiddling again, he took a quick glance around the strange outfit Major Hinaga had gathered around himself. The driver and gunner had taken no part in the rigmarole, while Iroh was slumped over the wireless looking like he was finding a sleeping position whether the commanding officer liked it or not. No one paid any attention to the little bald-headed Tibetan monk.

Aang Anil grinned mischievously, and set about looking for an escape route.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **The culmination of my week's work, and the last you'll be seeing for a while, I'm afraid. Another gap is closed...but thanks to my excessive work ethic it seems to be nearing completion ahead of schedule, so you might find I'll have enough time to churn out another few chapters by early September. You neeeeverrrrr knowwwwww...

Anyway, this is also (mostly) the end of my 'spoooky, mysterious' Japanese people talking mysteriously in Nee-Hong-Sprach (or 'Reverse Engrish', whatever floats your boat). And thank goodness because it's only now that Iroh really comes to life. I've written him as being so dour and serious before that it's a joy to go back and do it again from scratch, now with a bit more of the crotchety, genial, decadent old man we've grown to adore.

And we also get the big reveal! Aang Anil is the 'Qoghusula'. What's a Qoghusula, you ask? Oh...wait...you actually asked 'how do you _say _it'. It's 'choh-guh-soo-lah'. As for what a Qoghusula is, you're just going to have to wait for the next chapter, whenever that comes. I'm not going to blow all my cards in one sitting, you know that by now. Just to re-assure, I'm _not _going to leave this one hanging. I promised early September, so it's going to have to be early September whether I'm ready for it or not. :)

...I just realised I'm not actually saying this to anyone in particular, considering this story's _mighty _popularity. Well, I'm making this promise to _myself_. I want to find out what happens as much as any of my three other readers do. XD


	8. Pt 1 Ch 8: Tale Of The Empty One

The wireless set that had been locked in a secret compartment under the barn had only been used in emergencies, so whether it worked or not had always been a hit-and-miss affair. They only had it since the Battle of Khalkin Gol, and the Party still didn't entirely trust these rural hicks with it. The handle had worked and things were definitely buzzing, so Sokka crossed the fingers on his other hand as he tapped in Morse Code, hoping that the message was getting through to the regional command post in Bayan Tumen. He was hunched over the upright...if slightly wobbly...table in the Hakoda hut, the instrument Lieutenant Gakki was carrying now by Sokka's side, hands clamped over headphones as he carefully avoided any mistakes in communication.

They had to take the wireless set out to the hut, as the barn was in no condition to be traipsing around in. Sokka's attempts to draw Japanese fire had worked a touch too well, and the building was starting to totter as the walls had been reduced to bullet holes with small strips of wood in-between. With the emergency over with for now, the people of the village had warily returned to their homes and waited fretfully for morning to come. Neither Sokka nor Katara allowed themselves that luxury. The hut was re-lit with candle-light, and she stood cross-armed in front of the groaning Japanese soldier now just returning to full consciousness, tied to a chair securely with rope. Coupled with Gran-Gran's ever-present icy glare, it presented a terrifying sight to the soldier in spectacles as he blinked in confusion at the two figures coming into focus. Gakki shot up straight, startled at the massed stare of angry females.

"Jihi! Jihi!" Gakki shrank from the Mongolian women, "shinai de kudasai!"

"The man looks scared, Katara," Gran-Gran pointed out.

"Good," decided Katara, who made one step closer to the soldier, "that means he knows what's coming to him."

"Will you keep it down!? I can't hear myself signalling!" Sokka snapped, rounding off the last of his message, "and don't start the interrogation without me! I got first dibs on the jerk!"

"No need ta worry," Katara's fierce stare never left the whites of Gakki's eyes, "we'll all get our turn."

Gakki began shivering with fright, and he had trouble keeping his glasses on his face as they slid down the sweaty bridge of his nose. He peered fretfully at Sokka, seeing his sensitive equipment on the table next to the wireless, and seeing the soldier tapping away a message. The technician gulped, "nani o shiteimasu ka?"

"Now I can't say I know a single word of Martian, but I _think _he wants to know what you're up to, Sokka," Katara commented, acting half-interested and cocking a glance at Sokka's 'station'. The message tapped to a finish, so with a flourish Sokka whipped of the headphones and spun around on his stool towards the captive, smiling broadly.

"I'm glad you asked, mister man!" Sokka spoke cheerfully with a slight edge of menace, "just now, I signalled with this handy...if annoying...wireless code-tapping device that we were just raided by a Japanese army unit, that they inflicted terrible damage upon our property and livelihood, that they kidnapped an unarmed civilian, and that _you _are now a prisoner of the Mongolian People's Republic! And once the message is received by HQ and passed on to the very, _very _large number of Soviet Red Army troops in the area capable of breezing allll the way across Manchuria, then your life expectancy might as well be measured in days."

"...nani?" Gakki winced in confusion at the militiaman. Sokka deflated in annoyance.

"Okay, I'll make it easier for you..." Sokka leaned closer to the soldier, becoming heavily serious. "_You_..." Sokka jabbed both his fingers at Gakki, "_Are_..." and then slid his index finger across his own throat in a slashing motion, "_Screwed_..."

Gakki began shivering worse than ever, while Katara remained in her scorning, arm-crossed position, stating "I think he got it, Sokka."

Sokka peered closely at the captured soldier, wondering aloud, "y'know...he don't seem like the soldierly _type_, does he? What with the glasses the scrawniness and the shaking in his boots and the whole...'being a geek' thing..." The militiaman stroked his own chin as he studied, "it's actually kind of adorable."

"It doesn't matter," Katara's tone never wavered, "he led the soldiers straight to Aang. He's as guilty as the rest of them."

The wireless set began whirring and whistling, drawing Sokka's attention abruptly. "It's HQ!" he declared, snapping up notepad and pencil to translate the beeps and buzzes. Halfway through came a brief rumbling of static, and Sokka thumped the set harshly to bring the Morse message back again, mumbling, "don't you _dare_..."

"Katara, I need to have a word with you," Gran-Gran told her granddaughter calmly, with a surprising amount of respect.

"Now's not the time, Gran-Gran," Katara declared, noticeably angry at the night's events.

"Now is exactly the time, granddaughter," Gran-Gran asserted softly, drawing Katara's attention, "why didn't you tell me the boy was a monk?"

Katara softened. It was actually a good question. "He didn't want to be treated like one, and I didn't feel why he should've been if he didn't want to be. It wasn't important."

"I indulged your little fantasy because I didn't feel it important either, but it was obviously important enough for the Japanese to make a cross-border raid just to seize him," Gran-Gran pointed out, "the boy was a Gelugpa from tip to toe, a plain fact that was impossible to hide, especially from me. If it had been as simple as that, I wouldn't have minded his presence in the least, but I knew...as you must have done...that there was something far greater he was fleeing from. We now have a glimpse as to what that was."

"I'm sorry," Katara bowed her head solemnly, "I lied to you for selfish reasons."

"It is not your fault to bear, child," Gran-Gran spoke gently, "why should I expect honesty when I am dishonest in return?"

Katara was getting confused at the turn in mood her grandmother was expressing, when Sokka piped up to interrupt their little exchange, "okaaay...for some reason HQ wants clarification on who was kidnapped..."

"Just give 'em the essentials!" Katara hand-waved, annoyed at being interrupted.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sokka queried, one hand gripping a headphone just off his ear.

"Just do it!" Katara snapped.

Sokka recoiled slightly and turned back to the wireless set, muttering to himself, "damned blasted hormones..."

"There is more, Katara," Gran-Gran drew the nurse's attention away from Sokka and spoke with far more seriousness, "we both saw a fraction of what that boy is capable of. It is those capabilities that these Japanese must covet. Which makes it more important than ever that we discover what he really is."

"And we'll find out!" Katara insisted, while behind her Sokka was finishing up and standing from the table, "once we get the word out, the Red Army will be here inside an hour. Aang'll be rescued before the night's over and we'll have all the time in the world to ask him..."

"The Army's not coming..." Sokka announced glumly, standing in front of the table morosely. There was little but the sound of Gakki's whimpering as disbelief settled into the stuffy air.

"...what?" Katara asked in confusion, "...you...they can't...wha..._why not!?_"

"The terms of the Non-Aggression Pact," Sokka offered wearily as way of explanation, "we can't attack unless they attack first. And by 'attack' I mean 'capture territory and inflict serious loss of life'. The Japanese left a few minutes after they arrived, no one was hurt and the only person captured was a foreign national. Far as HQ's concerned...no harm done."

"No harm done?" Katara tried to process this absurd message. "_No harm done!?_" she shouted incredulously. Her voice must have carried through the hut because a moment later the sound of a large building collapsing into a pile of broken planks rumbled through Usutai. Katara rushed to the door and flung it open, looking out over the pitiful remains of the barn, the broken and utterly deserted goat pen, and the hundreds of rounds of spent ammunition littering the sleepy hilltop village. She snarled "our livelihood is gone! Our future is completely wrecked! You call _that _'no harm done'!?"

"I don't, but Choibalsan apparently does," Sokka shrugged bitterly, "and that's not all. They want us to release the prisoner as soon as possible. He's being held 'illegally', apparently."

Katara twisted around to glare scornfully at Gakki, who shrank in response. Her glare snapped back to Sokka, and she spoke monotonously, "they're just gonna give 'im up?"

"Word from upon high from Stalin himself is that he don't want Choibalsan riling up the Japanese in case it riles up the Germans too. My best guess, anyway," Sokka speculated, "they're sending a guy from the Party to make sure he's released. He'll be here in a couple of hours. We're to stay put 'till he gets here."

"We sit here for a couple of hours and the people who took Aang will be long gone," Katara pointed out scornfully.

"And I'm telling you, far as HQ's concerned, Aang ain't our problem," Sokka reported, clearly unhappy about the things he's saying.

Katara looked down at the floor, arms still crossed, deep in thought for a long while before looking Sokka square in the eyes.

"No."

She marched assertively towards some tipped-over bundles in a corner of the hut, pulling out a large satchel bag and clothes to put in it, while Sokka stood there awaiting some explanation, addressing the thin air that Katara had just marched out of, "...'no' what?"

"No!" Katara repeated herself in exasperation, concentrating on gathering together materials for a trip.

"Yes...I got that...but what're you saying 'no' to?" Sokka turned to Katara and waved his hands around in a plea for information.

"If this is how things have gotta be, then I don't accept it," Katara elaborated, finishing up her packing and hitching the satchel on her shoulder, turning back to the others in the hut with determination and drive, "Aang's not our problem. Fine. I'll make him _my _problem."

"Wait...Katara..." Sokka attempted to reason, "before you go off and do something without thinking it through, could you...I dunno..._think it through_?"

"You're not gonna talk me out of this one, Sokka," Katara advanced back towards the Mongolian group in the centre of the hut and stood firm.

"I'm not...! Ugh...just think _practicalities _for a minute! We don't even know who attacked us!" Sokka explained.

"The _Japanese_ attacked us..." Katara snarled irritably, "...it was less than _half an hour_ ago, Sokka."

"C'mon, Katara! The last time the Japanese attacked, the entire Kwantung Army marched through this place! It would've been suicidal to send in any less, with the Red Army so close, but that team numbered a few _dozen _at most," Sokka considered, "and you saw who was leading 'em! That guy with the scar? He couldn't have been much older than you or me, but he had total command of his men. And how did they know Aang was here? Why were they looking for him in the first place? That weren't no normal army unit. It was specialised, unique, it...it...you see what I'm getting at? We have _no idea_ where to start with these guys!"

"Sure we do," Katara let loose a small grin as she looked aside at the tied-up, sweating Japanese soldier to her right, "we can start with him."

"Kudasai! Matte kudasai!" Gakki insisted, flickering fearfully from face to face, "tsuujimasen..."

Sokka allowed a heartbeat to pass before passing judgement, "yeah...I can see a slight flaw in your plan."

"Let him speak," Gran-Gran interrupted, having remained silent until now, "even if we can't understand him, we may still learn from him. Speak, soldier!"

"Gomen nasai...daredano kega hoshiku arimasen..." the technician muttered desperately, trying to get across as best he could that he didn't mean any harm, that it was all a big misunderstanding, that they only wanted one thing, "Qoghusula dake hoshii desu..."

"Wait! Wait! I think I caught something in that!" Sokka held the conversation as he tried to piece together what he recognised, "I think...I think he said...'emptiness-la'." The militiaman blinked at his own turn of phrase, "what the hell is an 'emptiness-la'?"

"The Qoghusula..."

Gran-Gran spoke the words with great depth and reverence. The very name seemed to suck the air out of the room, and the weight of meaning it had on Gran-Gran dawned on Katara only gradually. Sokka, of course, was completely clueless, "yeeeaaah...that's what I just said..."

"So the Japanese are searching for the Qoghusula..." Gran-Gran thought carefully, "of course! Everything makes sense now!"

"It does?" Sokka glanced from Gran-Gran to the gradually wisening Katara and back again, confusion etched on his face, "I mean...sure it does, grandmother. But...hypothetically...suppose one of us didn't know why?"

Gran-Gran explained: "The Qoghusula is one of the most ancient of the Tibetan tulkus...the few enlightened beings who reincarnate down the ages to spread enlightenment to others. The Qoghusula was found by one of the original Nyingma sects, the Sunya, a thousand years ago during a time of great upheaval and savagery. Enlightenment had been brought to Tibet, but as it turned out, enlightenment wasn't enough. Greed and lust for power had split the country apart for centuries, leaving them divided and helpless when our Mongol ancestors subdued the realm in the name of their Great Khan and put the monasteries to the sword. The Sunya, already diminished to a dedicated few by 300 years of upheaval, were driven into the farthest mountains. There, they came across a child...a girl...with extraordinary abilities.

Her name is lost to legend, but her tale is not. Not while I breathe, at any rate. She was reluctant to accept her responsibilities, but the Sunya assisted her to control her talents. They discovered that she was in touch with that from which everything comes from...and to which everything must return. The emptiness at the heart of existence. The emptiness at the heart of us all. Sunyata. The Void. She could see the impermanence of all things, and of herself, and manipulate it to slip through all spaces...all times. The Sunya believed her to be an aspect of the Buddha Vairocana...a reincarnation of part of Guatama Buddha himself...returning to the prison of the material world in order to put things right.

This girl helped to drive out the Mongols, not through force but through words. She showed them the impermanence of the Great Khan's empire, the futility of conquering 'all under heaven', as she could see the threads that held time and space together, and knew that in but a few generations the Khan would be but a memory...and they repented. The invaders returned to Mongolia, and brought the word of the Buddha with them...and also brought with them the name they gave to this young girl who showed them the fragility of their ambitions...The Qoghusula...The Empty One.

It was with the help of the Qoghula's help that peace, unity, and enlightenment came to Tibet, and upon her death she was reborn into a boy, and the tulku lineage began. The Sunya took it upon themselves to house and train the Qoghusula with each reincarnation, to keep the peace in Tibet and...they hoped...the wider world. But the Nyingma sects stayed aloof from politics, and so it came to pass that upon the rise of the Gelug sect, the Sunya were absorbed into the greater Gelugpa monastic order, and here the Qoghusula's role was ended...considered 'fulfilled' by the Gelugpa. In reality the new order was afraid of the Qoghusula's powers of perception, and sought to marginalise them. Unlike most of the other tulkus, like the Dalai Lama or the Karmapa, the Qoghusula was always kept a well-hidden secret, trained by the Gelug Sunya to use their abilities only for introspection. That is, until the dawn of the modern age.

We once tried to bring the Tibetan way of life to an end through torch and blade, but we failed. Last century the Tibetan order became threatened with a force greater than any army could conceive of..._ideas_. Piece by piece, the Chinese Empire was being picked apart by strange peoples from half a world away, who brought with them not the blunt domination of the sword, but the subtle domination of machinery, of learning, of trade and of the inescapable attraction of a better world. The instability these foreigners wrought tore apart the fragile unity of the Tibetan sects, but one group of monks wished to change this...the Rime Movement. Monks from all disciplines putting sectarianism aside for the good of Tibet. And their greatest asset was the Qoghusula, a learned man called Roku Nyima, who co-founded the Rime Movement. When he died prematurely, the Rime Movement took it upon themselves to train his reincarnation. In the beginning it was assumed the child's identity was being kept a secret for its own protection, but the years went by...and the child never emerged. The Movement claimed that the Qoghusula had fulfilled its task by establishing Rime, and had moved on into nirvana at last.

But time passed...and things grew worse," Gran-Gran finished.

Sokka had wanted a quick explanation, but instead had found himself enraptured by another one of Gran-Gran's extraordinary tales. How did she do that? "How didya remember _all that_ off the top of your head?"

"Sheepskin oil, son. Keeps your mind as sharp as chicken wire," Gran-Gran snapped.

"Wait...Gran-Gran...you already told me about this," Katara digested the information, "at least...some of it. But why would the Japanese search here? The last Qoghusula died in Tibet over sixty...years...ago..." the nurse found the answer to her own question staring her in the face, "..._Aang is the Qoghusula!?_"

"If he is, then he has untapped potential beyond even that the Qoghusula of legend was capable of," Gran-Gran informed, "if the Japanese were to take advantage of that potential, there's no telling what they'd achieve."

"We can't let that happen!" Katara declared fiercely, turning quickly towards the door of the hut, "if the Red Army won't do anything, I will!"

"Katara!" Sokka rushed forward and blocked his sister's path, "you can't just head off into Manchuria by yourself!"

"I can!" Katara jabbed a finger at Sokka's face, "and you're not gonna stop me!"

"You're not listening!" Sokka explained, "ya think ya can find a mechanised unit of heavily armed soldiers, catch up with them and rescue Aang _on foot_? You'd never get past the border!"

"So whaddya you suggest!?" Katara challenged.

"I suggest that we carry out HQ's orders," Sokka spoke slyly, "they want us to give the prisoner back, so why not save them the trouble and deliver him ourselves? He'd need an armed escort after all, and who better than the two of us? And to save the Japanese some trouble, we go and take him back to the very unit he came from! Perhaps...pick up one of our friends along the way. All legal and above board! ...technically."

Katara, who had been shuddering in rage up until now, came over an honest grin and hugged her brother for all his worth, "Sokka...did you know you're the best brother ever?"

"Yeah, I know I am," Sokka hugged back, "you're nowhere near the best sister ever, but I love ya anyway."

Gakki peered through his spectacles, getting less scared and more bemused by this strange theatre going on, lightly shaking his head and muttering "...wakarimasen..."

"But...wait..." Katara pushed back from the hug and questioned Sokka, "how are _we _gonna catch up with 'em?"

"Two things, sister of mine," Sokka pointed a digit up triumphantly and wandered to the table, "firstly, this! Whatever it is. You saw when it was pointing in Aang's direction it made those weird beeping sounds? Well, we can use it to track his kidnappers! Soon as I figure out how it works..." the militiaman picked up the Japanese instrument in one hand and the direction-finder in another, waving around the silent, grey hunk of metal and electronics. He looked up at Gakki and asked rudely, "hey...Martian...how this work?"

"Wakawakashii dani..." Gakki had wisened to the possibility that these people genuinely didn't know what they were doing, and stuck to condescending the big oaf before him.

"Of course. Obviously," Sokka shot off sarcastically, fiddling around with buttons and switches until a flick of his finger brought the thing to life. A display on the side began charting a wavy, chaotic line and the hut was filled with bursts and flares of electromagnetic chaos.

"What _is _that?" Katara asked about the sound filling her ears. It sounded almost otherworldly.

"No idea, but if I can just..." Sokka began waving the microphone-shaped contraption in his other hand, and sure enough the signal began rising and falling in intensity. He turned around slowly, compensating for every change in pitch, until he managed to point in the direction that produced the very highest note in this cacophonous orchestra. Double-checking, the militiaman rushed out over the collapsed doorway and into the open air, pointing the device out in the direction he found before. The signal came from across the river, north-west of the village, somewhere in the expanse of foreign territory looming dark and purple in the moonlight. He smiled in delight, "there we go! All we need to do is follow the bread crumbs!"

"Wait! Sokka!" Katara ran out of the hut to follow her brother and asked urgently, "you said there was a _second _thing!"

Sokka's devious smile was firmly directed at his curious sister, "oh you're gonna _love _this..."

* * *

"No way..." Katara uttered.

"What? You don't like the colour?" Sokka snapped back.

"All this time..._all this time_...I thought you just came down here to stretch your legs and enjoy the weather, and now I find out that you _have a motorcycle_!" Katara flailed in the contraption's direction.

They stood in a cave some distance away from the village, bathed in the orange glow of the torch, in the middle of an Aladdin's grotto of acquired merchandise. Sokka was quite the collector, as the walls were covered with shelves filled with random nick-nacks and paraphernalia from around the world. Mostly from the Americas, but there were also quite a few random objects from Europe and India. Anything that could be tagged as 'modern' was eagerly snapped up...and the scarcity of such things in Mongolia had led to a plethora of useless junk. All except the centrepiece of the grotto's contents, a grubby but still noticeably new German-manufacture motorcycle, complete with side-car.

Sokka had led them there and felt eminently pleased with himself, while Katara gawked in disbelief and outrage. Gran-Gran didn't seem particularly surprised, while Gakki, still tied up and firmly held by the arm by Katara, had no opinion whatsoever about what these funny foreigners got up to. Sokka further ratcheted up his bloated ego by displaying his technical know-how, "not just _any _motorcycle, little sister! The BMW R-71! 750cc engine, 22 horsepower and a top speed of 85kph. Military issue! The Russians bought a shipment of these from the Germans to back-engineer and make for themselves. They already got a few prototypes made of the new ones, but Oyun managed to get his hands on a couple of the originals. Beautiful, ain't it? I call it 'Appa'!"

"I thought you were supposed to give your favourite toys _girl's_ names?" Katara asked.

"Of course not!" Sokka defended, "it's a _manly _name for _manly _vehicles!"

"And you got one those things!?" Katara argued, "why didn't you tell us!?"

"Ya kidding?" Sokka raised an eyebrow, "first whiff the Party gets that I'm stashing motorbikes, it's up against the wall for me! It ain't like I can pick up the groceries on it."

"So you got a big, hulking piece of machinery you can't even use," Katara condescended, "Oyun's got a real good racket going on with you, ya know. You'd snap up anything so long as its shiny and new, even if it's completely useless. What in god's name are those 'special treats' you're always giving him, anyway?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Sokka informed his sister politely, "but can you act at least a little happy? We'll _easily _catch up with the Japanese on Appa, and the longer we argue the morality of my hobbies the less easy it'll be!"

Sokka took decisive action on this by climbing onto the driver's seat of the grey-painted vehicle and checking over the state of the engine, apparently familiar with its workings. Both he and Katara were kitted out for a long journey, with Sokka fully dressed in travelling gear and wearing his trusty Soviet service rifle, and Katara's satchel freshly stuffed with extra provisions. Katara sighed and smiled weakly, "sorry. Thanks for helping. I didn't think you'd believe all that stuff about the Qoghusula."

"Ya thought right, it's nonsense from start to finish and I don't get why you're so willing to believe it," Sokka said distractedly, "I still got a bone to pick with Aang for heaping all this trouble on us."

"What?" Katara uttered in surprise, "so why are you helping me?"

Sokka paused what he was doing and looked up at Katara. There was fire in his eyes, "because no one...especially not the Japanese...threatens my home and family and gets away with it."

Katara smiled. Sometimes the simplest motivations were the best.

"Jihi..." Gakki groaned to himself. He could feel the sentimentality from across the language divide. Katara squinted at him.

"You. Sit down and don't be an idiot," Katara tugged the prisoner over to the side-car and pushed him over into it. He had to wiggle for a while until he found a comfortable position, and glared at the nurse as she tied extra rope around him to fasten him securely to the side-car.

"Katara...Sokka..." Gran-Gran called the attention of her grandchildren, and Katara turned to listen, "you must both be aware of the great task you have chosen for yourselves. The ramifications of this night will stretch far beyond the fate of one small boy...beyond one small village. On your shoulders will rest the fate of an entire continent."

"What are you talking about, Gran-Gran?" Katara tried to make light of her speech, "you make it sound like we're not coming back."

"You won't be, not for a long time to come," Gran-Gran spoke gravely, "once you set down this path, the way back will be blocked for certain. Your only choice will be to carry on, and deliver Aang safely to Tibet."

"She's got a point, Katara..." Sokka leaned forward, "we can surprise the Japanese border patrols going in, but we sure as hell won't surprise 'em going back out. And the Party's not gonna be happy ta see us in any case."

"The world is falling into a cycle of conflict from which it might never recover," Gran-Gran continued, "the Qoghusula might be the only hope of stopping it. It is imperative that he stay out the hands of any who would seek to use him for ill, whether it be the Party or their Soviet paymasters, or especially the Japanese. You will have enemies everywhere, and you must be vigilant when finding friends. There are many who will help you, but many more who will seek to harm you. But never lose sight of your purpose. Get to Tibet, and the rest will follow."

In one of the more shocking developments of that evening, Gran-Gran then smiled. Warmly and affectionately. "And above everything else," she comforted, "take care of yourselves."

Katara smiled and nodded. She understood.

"And you, Sokka," Gran-Gran added slyly, "don't get involved with any strange girls. You hear?"

"_Okay_, Gran! I promise!" Sokka responded irritably, leaning over Appa's handlebars, "Katara, you get on behind me and keep an ear on that thingymajigger, willya? I need to know where to go."

"Got it," Katara acknowledged, picking up Gakki's instrument box and straddling the bike behind Sokka, clutching onto Sokka to balance herself, "if this thing throws me off a cliff, I'm blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah, just make sure I'm driving in the right direction, okay?" Sokka dismissed, pulling a pair of goggles out a compartment on the side of the bike, "if it starts getting all fuzzy, try hitting it with something. That usually works."

"Dekai guzu..." Gakki mumbled to himself.

"And you stop giving us lip," Sokka schooled the prisoner as he pulled the goggles over his eyes, "don't ask me how, but I just _know _you're giving us lip."

The key turned in the ignition and the militiaman pushed down hard on the kick starter, twisting the throttle to rev up the engine as Appa came to life. The bike rumbled and growled, preparing to tear through the space before it. Katara was rarely comfortable around these things and was even less comfortable on them. She sighed to herself, talking loudly over the engine, "funny, ain't it!? I always wanted to see Tibet!"

"Just Tibet!?" Sokka yelled back, "I always wanted to see everything in-between!"

Sokka put Appa into gear and pulled hard on the throttle, sending up a cloud of dust as the vehicle roared out of the cave and into the outside world. Gran-Gran stood and watched, not saying a single word. Just smiling.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Farewell Mongolia! Farewell chapters with nothing but exposition and plodding-ness! We'll miss you, really.

Same 'release schedule' as before. One instalment tonight, the next tomorrow night and one after that Sunday night. A full weekend of excitedness as we rescue Aang from Zuko's clutches and begin our long, long trek across China. These three chapters will round off Part One and I hope they round it off in sufficiently spectacular style. Not much else to do now academia is ended, so hopefully updates will be quicker coming. I promised early September and I delivered, and I plan to see this thing through to the finish if it's the last thing I do.

I'm aiming for ten chapters per 'part', three 'parts' per 'book', and three 'books' overall. This may change, of course, but I don't want this thing spiralling _too _breathlessly out of control.


	9. Pt 1 Ch 9: Beyond The Horizon

Iroh's snore was louder than the engine, professionally trained through years of hard work. The old man's head, still wearing headphones attached to the wireless, rested heavily on his hand, which rested heavily in turn on the hard metal surface inside the Type 2592 'Chiyoda' armoured car. Iroh Hinaga was by nature a lover of simple pleasures, and decades of military service had encouraged his creativity in finding ways to enjoy such pleasures even in the most inhospitable of conditions. Compared to the noisy, smelly, muddy hole he'd slept in for a month during the Battle of Port Arthur, this was child's play. Zuko clamped his pillow over his ears, preparing to count down the hours he was going to have to be subjected to this noise sawing through his head. If he didn't love his uncle so much, he would have garotted him miles back.

Retirement must have been making Iroh soft, however, as his heavy head slipped off his resting arm and clunked against the surface, waking the former general up with a groan. He blinked harshly and felt his throat, looking around to see if anything had changed in the half-hour he'd nodded off for. Seeing the peasant-gear-clad, bare-footed monk still looking around the car in intense curiosity, and his nephew lying wide awake in his bunk looking sullen, Iroh realised nothing had changed whatsoever. He leaned back and asked the driver, "how soon do we hit Hailar, anyway?"

"50 kilometres ta go, sir!" the old, toothy, wiry driver leaned around to call from his compartment at the front, "it'll be least 'nother hour in this terrain!"

"Sorry I asked..." Iroh complained, double-checking the wireless controls partly to make sure everything was functioning and partly to keep his fingers occupied, "I can't wait to get onto a train again. I'm sure I've bored you with the old cliché about the goal being less important than the journey? That's all well and good if one _sees _any of it, instead of being stuck in a tin can all the time. We've seen individual places and sights in Manchuria for months now, but only now on a comfortable train...a window seat with plenty of room...will we see the whole country from top to bottom in one go. I think that's a very fitting eulogy to our time here. What do you think, nephew? A fitting coda to this fine place?"

"A fitting coda will be when I'm accepted back home with open arms," Zuko declared to the ceiling, "I'm tired of this place. I have no wish to see _more _of it."

Iroh's face darkened in Zuko's direction, then sagged knowingly in disappointment. His eyes flickered aside towards the prisoner, and he discovered that Aang was taking a deep interest in him. Aang could tell that there was more to this genial fellow than met the eye, an immense emotional weight that dared not speak its name. The monk had an inkling of what that felt like. Iroh's face lightened to its usual levity as he asked the monk, "well, never mind him. What do you think, little boy? Excited about taking a train?"

Aang decided to play along, "sure! I've never been on one before. I saw a few in India way back, but I didn't have any money."

"You'll find them in a lot more places than India, these days," Iroh reminisced, "ah, for the days when we didn't have plumes of coal dust drifting through the sky. When the fields and hills were unspoilt and weren't gouged through by metal tracks. I can remember it like it was yesterday."

"...it _was _yesterday for me..." Aang murmured to himself. The forgettable mumble drew Iroh's interested attention...and unbeknownst to the monk, Zuko's.

"So it's true then..." Iroh remarked, "12 years after the death of the last Qoghusula, the promise of a new incarnation by the Rime Movement was suddenly renounced. Those close to the Sunya knew, of course, that the young boy secretly proclaimed as Nyima's reincarnation had gone missing, for reasons unknown. They knew he wasn't dead, as the signs that announced the Qoghusula's passing on to a new form never materialised. And yet there was no trace of him. He was the same age as you when he disappeared, as was I. And yet I am now a frail old man whilst you haven't aged a day." Uncle Iroh leant an elbow on the wireless table and smiled wistfully, "I find myself rather envious, young man."

Aang shrugged off the dredging up of his past, "sorry."

"Oh, it's no issue, just vanity on my part," Iroh waved off the apology, "I'd do the same thing if I was in your position."

The monk noticed that Iroh was drifting off into nostalgia, and the boy twiddled his bare toes in curiosity, "y'know...for a ruthless kidnapper, you're actually pretty nice."

"We're not kidnappers!" Zuko startled the young boy and the old man with his proclamation, and both turned around to see the scarred teenage officer leaning up off the bunk and stare fiercely at Aang, spouting "you're going to help further a noble and worthwhile cause. My father's cause. You won't hide from your responsibilities to the world any longer."

"So...wait, where am I going?" Aang asked innocently, "if I'm gonna 'help the world' or whatever, shouldn't I finish my training in Tibet?"

"No," Zuko stated with finality, "Tokyo."

There was something wrong with this, Aang knew. All of this. Though his training with the Rime Movement was incomplete, he knew enough from what the monks taught him of diplomacy that talk of 'furthering noble causes' usually preceded the committing of terrible deeds. Iroh picked up on Aang's wariness and sought to reassure him.

"Don't worry, lad, we'll make sure you're well treated!" Iroh patted Aang's shoulder cheerfully, "you'll get put up in the Negoroji Temple, south of Kyoto in Wakayama Prefecture. Beautiful place, sited on Negoro Mountain. You'll be trained by Shingon monks...not too different from your Gelug forebears...and you'll be relaxed, well-fed, and free to devote your time to the arts and to making friends amongst your fellow disciples. You'll make me envy you even more, so you will."

Zuko had had enough of this talk, and twisted grumpily to face the rear of the Chiyoda, his back turned to the two seated. Aang wasn't sure how to take the signals, and suspected Iroh was telling white lies to reassure himself as much as the bald-headed boy. "Sounds...great..." Aang smiled tentatively, "...looking forward to it..."

"Uncle, will you _please _concentrate on monitoring wireless messages?" Zuko snapped irritably at the back wall, "if you're alert enough to make the prisoner feel better, then maybe you can use that alertness for something useful?"

Iroh groaned slightly and turned back to the wireless set, readjusting his headphones and settling down to monitoring transmissions, his attention towards Aang apparently ended. The old man muttered under his breath, "...that's what bad upbringing does to a boy..."

Soon enough, Iroh sagged into a resting position and began to snore. The noise was enough to make Zuko clamp his pillow over his head. Everyone else in the armoured car was too concerned with their own tasks to pay much attention to Aang. It was the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

The boy slipped his hands out of the rope that tied his wrists, having spent the last hour carefully untying them and then making them up to look like they were perfectly secure. Keeping one end tied in a noose in one hand, he carefully leant forward to peer into the driver's section. The turret guy up top didn't really pay attention to anything below him, so he wasn't really a worry, but the doors were situated on either side of the driver, and he knew from earlier explorations that he was bound to be noticed if he simply tried to sneak by. Unless the driver looked to his left. So he waited until the hilly road ahead swerved leftward, which wasn't long in the uneven terrain, and darted ahead to take advantage of the driver's distraction. Aang pulled the handle down quickly but softly, and opened it only slightly to hook the small length of rope around a protruding bump in the car's roof that he'd noticed from inside. He slipped out the door and used the leverage from the rope to pull himself up and out of the way of the door, closing it carefully.

The driver faced forward again, but on feeling a draft turned to the door on his right. Seeing nothing, he shrugged it off and returned to navigating the Chiyoda's way through the hazardous path. In a matter of seconds the boy had completely vanished, and no one was the wiser.

* * *

The night was warm enough that a camp-fire wasn't necessary for the Japanese lookouts. Ever diligent in cutting overheads, the Imperial General Headquarters had apparently noticed this and reduced the provision of fire-lighters to the Kwantung Army by two-thirds over the summer months. The knock-on effect of this was the necessity for Corporal Tanaka to send Private Hanaya half a kilometre down the border to fetch three pots of rice. Once the thin and gangly young recruit had returned from the exhausting trip breathing harshly through his teeth the rice was already half-cold. 

"You're a disgrace to Amaterasu herself, you know that Private?" the hard-faced Corporal sitting on the edge of a small ridge facing away from the border wearily chided the young soldier, who was still trying to get his breath back, "a true son of Japan wouldn't even be fazed by a run like that."

"Sorry, sir, it won't happen again," Hanaya regained his composure. They all had rifles while a heavy machine gun lay idle nearby.

"Don't apologise," Tanaka tucked into his tepid rice bowl, "just make sure it doesn't."

"You shouldn't really order him about like that, Jiro," another more grizzled soldier seated on a rock opposite the Corporal, Private Komoto, paused in the middle of of chomping down his own rice bowl, "it's not like you have any pips on your shoulder."

"I don't have any pips _yet_, Matsui," Jiro Tanaka pointed his chopsticks accusingly at Matsui Komoto, "and when I do get them I'm going to remember your smart-alecky attitude to people of a higher rank than you."

"Listen, someday you're gonna have to come to terms with the fact that your promotion just ain't coming. And you'd have an easier time of it if you stopped intimidating clueless new guys who don't know any better to indulge your superiority complex," Matsui turned his attention to the clueless new guy in question, who was still standing upright with a lukewarm pot of rice in one hand, "I mean, c'mon Hanaya! Are you waiting for an order to start eating? Just sit down and tuck in! He ain't gonna bite you!"

A scared-looking Hanaya glanced from Komoto to Tanaka. The nominal commander of the small outpost looked up at the young man and scowled, making a playfully exaggerated chomping motion with his teeth. Hanaya gulped and slowly nodded to Komoto, "yes, s-...okay."

With no handy rocky outcrop to sit on, the Private was obliged to squat. There wasn't any problem seeing his meal, as the bright moon above made it barely night-time at all. Komoto looked up and marvelled at the night sky in his own way, "looks like Tsukiyomi is granting us a nice night tonight."

"He only reflects Amaterasu's greatness," the Corporal remarked to his rice dish, "the moon can only reflect light from the sun. Simple astronomy."

"It's _religion_, Jiro. Astronomy doesn't count," the grizzled Private responded, "don't you have any sense of poetry?"

"No, and neither do you," Tanaka pointed out, "and after reading most of your sorry excuses for 'poetry' I wouldn't say that statement's particularly contentious."

"Philistine," Komoto muttered, growing annoyed at the low rumbling noise that grew in his ear drums, "and for god's sake, Hanaya, I said you could eat! I can hear your stomach growling from here!"

Hanaya looked up from his squat with an innocently bemused expression, "that's...not my stomach."

A mighty roar cascaded through the outpost, and Tanaka's rice pot was blown out of his hands by the gust of air that surged beneath the motorbike streaking over the soldiers' heads. They collectively dived for cover as pieces of the barbed wire fence the bike must have torn through were deposited throughout the small encampment. The soldiers closed their eyes and covered their heads while dust and sand whirled around them, but Private Hanaya was the first to look up and see the motorcycle with side-car land with a sizeable clank, and in the blur of movement could make out three figures with rifles and other fleeting objects seated on and in the vehicle.

"Uch la rye!" one called back in a female voice, before disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Hanaya wasn't blown off any rocks by the incursion, and wasn't right beneath the bike when it surprised the group, so he was first on his feet to the telephone unit, attached by an almost unnoticeable wire to the local command post. Dropping to his knees and whirring the device wildly, he yelled down the line. "Nomonhan Sector! This is Position 9! Three armed Mongolian bandits on a motorcycle have just made a forced incursion across the border at Halha River! I repeat, that's three Mongolian bandits on a motorcycle! They're heading due east, repeat, due east into Manchukuo!"

* * *

"Welcome to China!" Sokka yelled over the sound of Appa's buzzing engine and its wheels tearing up dust and rock. The bike lifted up over small peaks and slid through narrow dips with consummate ease. The Mongolian soldier had a huge grin permanently fixed on his face, "...or Manchuria! Or Inner Mongolia! Or Manchukuo! Or...wherever!" 

"We ain't got long before the Japanese clamp down on us!" Katara gripped onto Sokka fiercely and dug her feet firmly into the side of the bike, "and stop showing off, willya!?"

"_Kichigai!_" Gakki cried over the engine, his white-faced terror keeping his eyes wide open.

"Can't slow down, sister! Gotta make time!" Sokka shouted, "so where the hell do we go!?"

"Uhh..." the nurse listened into the device and heard a whole lot of static. Thwacking the grey metal box harshly against the side of the BMW motorcycle, the signal abruptly sprung to life. Swinging the direction-finder around and gathering bearings, Katara double-checked and stated assuredly, "_north!_"

Katara cried out in surprise as Appa swerved suddenly left-ward, lurching forward to grasp Sokka and keep herself and her equipment from flying off. Gakki screamed out even louder as the side-car was lifted sky-ward by the suddenness of the turn, suffering a teeth-shattering bump as the bike completed its cloud-kicking swerve and began tearing due north alongside the river.

In only a few minutes the river was left far behind. Katara risked a look back, and saw the moon-lit Baintsagen Heights...Mongolia...and her entire life up to now disappear from view. Consciously, she tore her eyes away and looked forward towards the dusty, rocky landscape beyond her, and the future beyond that. She convinced herself the tears in her eyes were just from the rushing wind biting at them.

* * *

Iroh's new sleeping position proved to have more staying power. So it was with some annoyance that a rapid beeping burst into his ears. He groaned loudly enough to awaken Zuko, who had just managed to start nodding off himself, though the teenager didn't complain as verbally. The old man muttered, "god...what do they want? Okay...let's see..." 

Iroh wearily rubbed his eyes, pulled out a notepad and a pencil, readjusted his headphones and scribbled down the Morse code as it came in. He paused at one point to pinch his nose and ward off a splitting headache, but quickly caught up. The message ended, and Zuko sat up to receive the news, fully alert, asking his uncle, "news from General Headquarters?"

"Afraid not, Zuko," Iroh turned away from the wireless set, taking off the headphones and twisting his free pinky finger in his left ear. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He coughed as he digested the message for his nephew, "it's Kwantung Army Command. They've put the entire border on alert for three Mongolian bandits riding a motorcycle. Apparently, they forced their way through a lookout post in the Nomonhan Sector, heading due east of the border."

"They must be following us. We need go to a higher state of alert," Zuko rose fully to his feet, awake and prepared...and noticing for the first time the empty chair where a certain small boy was meant to be, "Uncle...where's the Qoghusula?"

Iroh's eyes snapped to the empty seat. This being the first time he noticed either. He held both his hands up at Zuko, "I swear, he was right there last I checked."

"The prisoner escaped and _none of you noticed!?_" Zuko growled angrily, attracting the attention of both the gunner and the driver.

The driver in particular was beside himself in apology, "I...I noticed a draft about...ten minutes ago, sir."

"_You..._" Zuko pointed accusingly at the driver and shuddered in anger, executing the driver a thousand times over in his narrowed eyes. His last hope...The officer punched the side of the car forcefully, voicing out loud "he can't have gotten far. _Stop the car!_"

"_Belay that!_" Iroh bellowed, admonishing his nephew, "_think_, Zuko! Once you escape the claws of a flying hawk, do you just jump off or wait until it lands?"

Zuko paused, understanding his Uncle's advice. He reached for his pistol and drew it out, raising it upward in one hand preparedly. The scarred teenager ordered the driver, "maintain speed."

Zuko crawled over to the left porthole, then the right, then opened the flap in the rear to look behind. Nothing yet. He pounced forward to the driver's compartment, looking out the window at the long engine compartment in front of him, and opened the right side-door to aim his pistol down the length of the Chiyoda. The strands of hair that poked out of his cap fluttered in the wind, but as he aimed forward and aft, he saw no sign of his prisoner. Rushing to the other side, he looked forward, backward, up and down but still saw no sign of the bald-headed boy anywhere on the car.

He closed the door again, thinking over the nooks, crannies, and hiding places the car must have. Glancing upwards to the rear, he realised there was a place he hadn't yet checked. He ordered the gunner "Sergeant, get out of the turret."

"Yes sir," the gunner acknowledged without hesitation, clambering out of the seat to allow his commanding officer to climb up and into it. Zuko grabbed hold of the controls and swivelled the turret a full 180 degrees. Once he completed the turn, he saw through the turret window a surprised...and suddenly very nervous...Qoghusula clinging precariously to the roof of the Chiyoda.

"Heheh..." Aang smiled at the turret and shouted cheerfully through the armour, "sorry! It was getting stuffy in there so I thought I'd get some fresh air! Forgot to ask! Didn't think you'd mind!"

Zuko scowled.

Opening up the turret port, he stood up and emerged out the top of the turret into the rushing evening air, aiming his pistol humourlessly at Aang, "Qoghusula, stop being a nuisance and get back in the car."

The car rocked a little through the rocky path. The danger of the situation wiped the smile off Aang's face, and for the first time that night actually feared for his life. Rudimentary reasoning soon dispelled that fear, as Aang argued "wait! You can't shoot me! I'm too valuable!"

"I need you alive," Zuko stared coldly at the boy and cocked his Type 14 Nambu dangerously, "I don't need all your fingers."

Aang considered carefully. How could he escape and still keep all his digits attached? The scarred teenager couldn't risk killing him...so how about making it impossible to try? Aang grinned at where this train of thought was leading.

The boy surprised Zuko by suddenly rolling across the roof and down the side of the armoured car.

"Hey!" Zuko snarled, aiming wildly around the Chiyoda's exterior as the boy clambered across the left side of the car, leapt over the bonnet in a single bound, and ran down the narrow ledge on the right side like some kind of circus performer. Zuko couldn't keep up with Aang's constant erratic movements, unable to get a clear shot, and became increasingly agitated. The officer briefly thought he could get a good shot the next time Aang sought to regain his footing after leaping across the bonnet again, but in mid-leap Aang suddenly pulled himself back and began to make his dare-devil route around the edge of the car in the opposite direction. The sudden shift in orientation led Zuko to twist around so quickly that he lost his footing and plummeted back into the turret, his pistol discharging harmlessly into the sky as he fell.

Iroh winced at the rough fall, and as he helped Zuko to his feet the old man listened to his nephew accusing him "Uncle...you neglected to mention that we were trying to capture a crazed monkey."

* * *

It was common practice for the vehicles in the convoy to keep some distance from each other to disperse the effect of ambushes...of which they'd fought off more than a couple in the time they've spent on the mainland. As a consequence, the headlights of the Nissan truck nearest the front of the convoy didn't quite reach Major Hinaga's Chiyoda. Nevertheless, the small and sprightly driver of the flat-fronted truck could see a fair amount of the bizarre battle of wits that had broken out around the lead vehicle. 

The Private squinted into the darkness and asked his superior officer, the thin-bearded soldier who had urged an earlier attack on Usutai and had attempted to rescue Lieutenant Gakki, who was sitting next to the driver in the rumbling, dimly-lit cabin of the truck, "sir...what do you think is going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Private," Lieutenant Jee Raiyuban ventured, "I suspect either the prisoner's causing trouble or our esteemed commanding officer is holding a celebratory party all by himself."

The latter possibility was quashed as a figure emerged again from the turret of the armoured car, his bearing and intensity of movement signalling him out as being unmistakably Major Hinaga. Zuko focused his attention on the truck behind him, held up his hand (holding his signature Nambu pistol) and waved it urgently and decisively around himself, bidding the Nissan truck to come closer. The driver deferred to his superior, "what do we do, sir?"

"We do as he says, Private," Jee held his arm out the window and signalled to the other trucks to close in, "get as close as you can."

* * *

Aang laughed to himself, clinging to the back of the Chiyoda and immensely satisfied at making his supposed 'captor' realise that he was only under their custody by his choice alone. But even as he stifled his giggles, the boy abruptly noticed that the 'captor' hadn't yet gotten the message, as boots clamped onto the roof his fingers gripped and the monk stared down the barrel at a pistol aimed directly between his eyes. The scarred teenager's stare was fixed down that same aim. 

"You're starting to try my patience, boy," Zuko growled in granite-faced monotone.

Aang smiled defensively, "already? I can go on all night!"

"Don't say something you might regret," Zuko warned coldly. The officer's face, cloaked in shadow before, suddenly lit into sharp relief as a strong and blinding light illuminated the back of the Chiyoda. Aang grew worried, and turned his head around to blink fiercely into the glare of the lamp-eyed machine closing fast on him.

* * *

"Looks like you were right the first time, sir," the truck driver noted to Jee. 

"We really need to work on your sense of sarcasm, soldier," Jee leaned forward to slip the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, and opened the door of the truck to lean out slowly and steadily, "keep her steady! I'm gonna get this little runt even if it costs me my pension."

* * *

The truck came into Aang's focus, and he saw the bearded soldier lean out the side of the cabin getting ready to grab him. Zuko too was leaning down to collar him. Enemies ahead and enemies behind, certain injury below...but what about above? There were plenty of choices, but only one held the promise of freedom. 

Aang turned back to Zuko, but only to give himself something to fix his eyes on. The monk's bare feet fixed themselves halfway up the back of the car, his legs bended inward, and before Zuko's eyes Aang sprang back, twisting around in mid-air to clutch desperately to the roof of the truck behind him. His feet sought purchase on the windshield, frantically crawling up and forward out of Zuko's reach.

Jee was slightly offended at the vehicle he commanded being used as a thoroughfare, and protested with a strong "hey!" The officer climbed up to grab the boy's feet, but the child was too slippery for him and the monk scrabbled out of Jee's clutches.

Zuko didn't know if he could make that big a jump, but the question of whether he could never entered his mind. All that raced through it was a driven urge. He had to capture the Qoghusula, no matter the cost. His feet left the back of the Chiyoda and he grunted painfully as he banged his chest harshly against the metal cabin. The officer paid the pain no heed, and crawled onward.

Aang risked a glance behind himself, clothes fluttering in the quickening torrents of wind, and scrabbled faster when he saw Zuko following him like a man possessed. Concentrated as he was on simply getting away, he paid little attention to what he was scrabbling over. The cabin gave way to weathered, beaten tarpaulin, repaired on the go with whatever was to hand in Zuko's unit. The repairs were sufficient for day-to-day wear and tear, and the repairers had assumed no one would be daft enough to climb on top of the trucks and run across them with no caution whatsoever. Just as Aang stepped on a particularly badly-stitched section, the truck hit a bump, and the monk disappeared into the back of the Nissan.

Aang nursed his behind, and groaned as he righted himself. He froze, however, when he glanced around and noticed that he was surrounded by a squad of eight soldiers. They were frozen in turn, unsure why their prisoner had suddenly fallen out of the sky, and mightily annoyed that the boy had the gall to interrupt their meal of soup and rice cakes. Aang held up a hand apologetically, and asked politely "hope you don't mind. Can I use this truck as a thoroughfare? Thanks!"

In the crucial moment of hesitation on the part of the soldiers, Aang sprinted to the very back of the truck and leapt off the back-board to the next truck behind. He only just managed to find a hand-hold on the front grille of the truck, and managed a precarious balance until he managed to find a foot-fold as well. He inched to the side of the cabin, scared to think too much lest he realised how utterly crazy he was for doing these things, and more than a little exhilarated that he was able to do these things and still be alive to tell everyone about it later.

"I got you, you little rodent!" a soldier called out over the sound of the rumbling road, whipping wind and growling engines. Aang looked aside and saw the truck door swinging open and the soldier who called gripping onto the door-handle to lean out and reach for the boy. The monk was seconds from his grasp, and instinctively shot his leg out to kick the door. The soldier cried out as the door swung in and back out again under his own weight, now hanging terrifyingly on the door handle as the soldier lost his balance entirely and clung on for dear life.

Aang hoped the man wouldn't fall off, but nevertheless didn't question luck. He grabbed onto the outside of the open door and climbed up it, banking with the swings and shudders of the truck.

* * *

Sokka and Katara were discovering a fair few things about Manchuria in the short time they'd been riding through it. Firstly, there were a whole lot more trees and even more piles of rocks. Secondly, the use of headlights in the narrow mountain passes was not an optional extra, no matter how much easier it made them to detect. And thirdly, the fastest route and the most direct route were not necessarily the same thing. 

Appa roared down the road, hugging the tire tracks in the centre left by three large trucks and one smaller vehicle. Following the signal, the pair had found the tire tracks and quickly surmised they were the ones they needed to find. Sokka squinted through his goggles, seeing a fork in the road ahead and the tracks leading left. Katara winced as she listened to the nerve-grinding sound in her headphones, but became alert as she saw the fork ahead and the direction the device was indicating.

"Go right!" she called over the engine.

"Wha!?" Sokka wondered aloud, peering behind quickly, "but the tracks go left!"

"Trust me! They're turning east!" Katara yelled energetically.

With the fork quickly approaching, Sokka made a snap decision and swerved right, the captive Gakki wishing his tied hands could grab onto something as he rolled about the side-car becoming ill from constant movement. The headlight of the motorcycle bathed the road ahead in yellow, and Sokka could gradually see the rocky road ahead. Abruptly, he realised, "the road's narrowing!"

"That's why the trucks went the long way!" Katara shouted triumphantly, "will the bike fit through there!?"

"Just about, yeah!" Sokka answered loudly, turning to the nurse with a puzzled look, "how did you guess!?"

"Woman's intuition!" Katara grinned widely. Sokka revved the bike up and tore down the narrower path, leading gradually up a long incline. The Mongolian girl was fuelled with excitement as certainty crept in. They could make it. They could rescue Aang. Such things were possible after all. She could barely believe it, but it was possible. Everything was possible.

"Ya still think motorbikes are loud and obnoxious!?" Sokka jeered, earning a sharp slap around the head. Sokka laughed. It was worth it.

* * *

Major Hinaga dropped down into the truck through the tear Aang left behind, stood assertively upright and stared around at the bemused troops, paused in the middle of their meal and at a loss as to how to proceed. One pointed warily out the back of the truck, and Zuko followed the gaze to the truck behind them, stepping forward to study the boy's clinging to the swinging door. The truck was slowly backing away and careering dangerously from side to side as the driver concentrated his efforts on making sure the Sergeant hanging onto the door didn't fall to his doom. The distance between Zuko and his prize was lengthening by the second. 

Behind him, Lieutenant Raiyuban thunked to the floor, and muttered a curse under his breath as he quickly righted himself and focused on the small figure clinging onto the truck behind. Jee's rifle slid off his shoulder and into his hand, brought up and aimed from behind Zuko at the child attempting to escape, stating "I can get a clear shot, sir!"

"No!" Zuko slapped the rifle away, "you might kill him."

"Well, sir, we're running seriously low on options!" Jee spoke testily, realising the urgency of their task.

Zuko thought hard, weighing up the possibilities, and came to a decision. He ran to the back of the cabin and banged loudly on the metal, yelling "driver! Slow down! Get us closer to the truck behind!" The driver's acknowledgement was muffled by the metal, but the message obviously got through. The truck began to fall back towards the next truck along. Zuko pocketed his pistol and stood to the right facing the rear of the truck. He informed Jee, "this boy is a sly one. He won't make the same mistake twice. That means he'll try to crawl _around _the truck, not _over _it. If I take the right and you take the left, we can catch the Qoghusula between us once he reaches the back of the truck."

"Wait, sir, how are we supposed to...?" Jee began to ask, only for the commanding officer he was asking disappear right in front of him. Zuko made a running start and leapt over to the right side of the Nissan truck behind. Jee sagged, "oh god no..."

The soldier felt the need to step back and take a deep breath before attempting the same thing for the left side.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **All Aang needs now is a fedora and a leather whip.

That's not just a passing quip, either. Whether consciously or unconsciously, this chapter right here has tons of nods to 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' and its famous truck-heist sequence. It's exactly the same time period in exactly the same circumstances with almost exactly the same antagonists and almost exactly the same mcguffin (ancient mythical means to great power...all rather 'Jewel of the Nile' as well). Similarities were bound to crop up, and I've only really realised it now it's behind me in the rear-view mirror. I hope it's an enjoyable little jaunt nonetheless. I mean...Indiana Jones was an enjoyable little jaunt too, so any similarities are welcome in my opinion. Nothing is ever completely original.

You can google the equipment I've cited for extra historical fun. The 'Chiyoda' is named because it was manufactured in Chiyoda, by the by, since the Type 2592 didn't really have its own 'name'. People actually assume it was called the 'Houkoko', but that was just another place it was manufactured. And there was such a bike as the BMW R-71 and it _was _indeed brought over by the Soviets from Germany under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, back-engineered, copied and manufactured in large amounts as the 'M-72'...and faced the Germans when they invaded Russia in 1941. Ironic, no? In other nit-picking paraphernalia, the rifle Sokka wields is a slightly outdated Soviet-issue Mosin-Nagant M1891/30 rifle, Lieutenant Jee Raiyuban slung a top-of-the-range Arisaka Type 99 rifle across his shoulder, and the trucks Aang is leaping across are Model 97 Nissan 4x2 trucks. They were designed with the cabin over the engine to deal with narrow Japanese roads, but some of them saw military use. Zuko's favoured Type 14 Nambu pistol is a late production model with an enlarged trigger-guard to allow someone wearing gloves to fire it. Although the standard officer pistol, most officers preferred to carry swords with them as their personal weapon. This will be an important point later, since there's a specific reason Zuko isn't wielding a sword.

Tune in tomorrow for more!


	10. Pt 1 Ch 10: Qoghusun

Aang Anil didn't notice the figure leaping over to the right, concerned as he was with not falling off the door he was clinging onto dangerously. He climbed up and over, looking around at the truck and possible means of heading forward. The roof was a no-no after the last fiasco, so the safer bet was the side. There was a large gap between the top of the door and the edge of the truck, but handily enough Aang noticed a rudimentary stepping stone between himself and the way ahead.

"Ow!" the Sergeant clinging onto the door handle cried out, as Aang stepped on his head and hopped over to the side of the truck. The monk made sure of his footholds, and dug his fingers in as the truck swerved again to the side of the road, catching a large rock under the wheel and nearly sending him flying while dust flew up and stung his eyes. A brief moment later he was edging his way cautiously to the back. Halfway there, his confidence increased, only to be sharply reminded of the risks he was making when the truck door slammed shut behind him with a loud metallic clunk.

Aang's head whirled around and saw Lieutenant Raiyuban, focused intently if slightly reluctantly towards capturing the boy monk. He called out over the wind and the wheels, "you couldn't make this easy, could you!?" The man was angry at him, a dangerous state to be while the soldier closed in on Aang, and encouraged the sprightly child to edge forward faster. His way was soon blocked, however, as around the side of the truck there emerged a small flotilla of soldiers, nestled inside the tarpaulin and quicker on the uptake than the last squad had been. All were determined not to let Aang get away.

With the way ahead blocked, and the way behind closed to him, Aang had no choice but up. Clutching onto the nearest wire that held the tarpaulin up, he uttered a small karmic prayer that his fasting and exercise meditations had made him light enough for the wire to support his weight, and pulled himself up. He dug his fingernails into the tarpaulin, seeing it bend under his mass, and panicked a little when he felt fingertips briefly brush against his bare feet. But he made it to the top, and the wire did support his weight.

Aang sighed heavily in relief, and carefully worked his way forward towards the rear of the truck. Perched on the very last wire rung, he looked over and saw a great chasm of churning dust and rock between himself and the next truck. The driver had apparently been ordered to speed up, and now the journey ahead was impassable. Unless he did something very urgently, his escape would have been for nothing. Events were to work in his favour, however, as the soldiers surrounding the truck attempted to follow him to the roof of the truck. Aang was just light enough for the roof to support him, but a squad of professional Japanese soldiers certainly wasn't. Their hands tore into the tarpaulin, and Aang felt a surge of gloating superiority to the soldiers, taunting "aww! Can't get up!? Come back later when you've taken a diet!"

The smile got wiped off his face when an ear-splitting ripping sound broke the rushing air. Aang froze on his perch, realising suddenly that the tarpaulin ripping apart was probably the worst thing that could happen to a person perched on the very back of a fast-moving vehicle. The monk felt the wire moving beneath himself, and muttered under his breath "...bad karma." The section of the tarpaulin he sat on separated from the rest and began falling backward, plummeting towards the road. Halfway down its arc, Aang crouched and sprang.

For the brief moment he was in the air, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Aang closed his eyes tightly. He wasn't going to die. Not yet.

An eternity later, his hands felt something, and Aang clung on for all his worth. His chest slammed into a truck's front bumper, and his feet briefly grazed the road he was hanging only inches above from. The boy curled up around the bumper and breathed deeply. The swinging arc of the tarpaulin support wire had brought him just within flinging distance of the truck, and it was sheer, unadulterated luck that he was still alive. That was far, far, far too close for one so young.

* * *

The two Japanese soldiers driving the truck in the far rear of the convoy had witnessed a small boy apparently plunging to his doom, and reacted to his unfortunate demise in different ways. The tall, gentrified Sergeant Nishio was wiping a tear out of his morose eye, "such a tragic fate for a promising young man in the prime of his youth." 

The portlier, unhygienic driver called Private Honjo was more worried about the mess he'd have to clear up from the front of his truck, "the dumb kid had it coming."

"Private! How can you be so cold-hearted?" the Sergeant admonished, "I, for one, believe we should stop and give the boy a proper send-off. His spirit demands solace."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather carry on and forget about that stupid brat," the driver moaned, "the sooner this pointless mission is over, the sooner we can go home and forget these last two years of poking every nook and cranny on the mainland for a fairy-tale fantasy."

"Honestly, Private, you're such a callous brute," the Sergeant shook his head slowly in sorrow, "alas. If only the cruel winds of Susanoo could lift, and give the unfortunate a second chance."

A hand slapped onto the windscreen, shocking the soldiers rigid. Securing a firm grip, the boy Nishio and Honjo had believed squished pulled himself into view, his bald head sweaty with effort and some fear. Honjo briefly lost control of the truck through sheer surprise.

Nishio screamed, "_aaah! He's a vampire! Kill it! Kill it!_"

Honjo, shocked as he was by the boy's rise from the dead, and busy with regaining control of the truck, nevertheless gave the Sergeant a funny look, "you sure change your tune quick, sir."

* * *

The narrow road hugged the edge of the mountain, some distance up from the wider canyon road below. Appa's engine growled deeply, hurtling at top speed with no time to stop. All three on the motorcycle were focused on their particular tasks. Sokka with riding the bike, Katara with operating the strange instrument that led their way, and Gakki with ruminating over his unfortunate fate. 

Katara winced, puzzling over a change in the nature of the signal. After some experimental waving around and a couple of good, solid beatings the signal remained changed. She reported, "hey! Something's weird with the signal! It sounds like it's all around us! We must be getting close!"

"We can't be! We shouldn't be anywhere near 'em yet!" Sokka yelled back.

The nurse decided it wasn't any use giving herself a deeper migraine listening to a signal that didn't point to anywhere, so she shut off the device and tore off the headphones. The flood of sensation took her breath away, hearing the sounds of tires in dust and wind rushing past her ears, the grumbling piston engine of the motorbike and the rattling of suspension springs. She felt more alert than she'd ever felt before. Senses sharpened, she looked around at the moon-lit, textured valley they drove through. Then she saw something.

Peering closely, she could make out vehicles trundling down the road at the bottom of the canyon, many metres below the narrower mountain path Appa flew along. As the vehicles came into focus, their identity became unmistakable. She shouted, "down there! That's gotta be the guys who took Aang!"

Sokka took his eyes away from the path ahead to look down, seeing the swaying, erratic convoy below and yelling in turn, "I see 'em! Looks like they're having trouble!"

"We don't have much time! We gotta get Aang out of there!" Katara shouted urgently. Pausing in thought, a rather important question abruptly occurred to her, "hey, Sokka!? Just wondering here! Now we found Aang's kidnappers, what do we do!?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, sister!" Sokka gleamed at Katara, and then more ominously at a distressed Gakki, "I gots me a plan!"

Katara wondered warily, "...will I like it!?"

"Probably not!" Sokka shouted unapologetically, tugging at the accelerator handle to give Appa a burst of speed and overtake the convoy below.

* * *

Aang Anil panted as he clawed his way onto the top of the cabin. With little time for reflection, he looked behind at the comfortably large space between himself and the nearest truck, and ahead at the large moon-lit space beyond the very end of the convoy. Knowing now that the roof was relatively safe so long as he was careful, he crawled across the tarpaulin rung by rung, digging fingernails in whenever the truck swerved, dragging himself all the way to the end. There he stopped and looked over the rear edge of the truck at the racing mass of earth beneath. There was nowhere else to flee to. Dead end. 

"Nowhere to hide, Qoghusula," an uncomfortably familiar voice rang in his ears. Aang swirled around to see Major Hinaga standing astride the forward cabin, hair unkempt from activity beneath his officer's hat and bathed in shadow from the headlights behind him. He looked exhausted and angered beyond measure, but determination drove him forward when nothing else would. Aang sagged in defeat, as Zuko aimed his pistol, "I learn my lessons. And you will learn yours. There won't be a second chance at escape."

"Why are you doing this!?" Aang spoke over the rushing wind.

"I was always meant to do this," Zuko answered plainly and waved his pistol downward, "get in."

* * *

"Who would've thought a mere boy had so many talents?" Iroh extinguished the matchstick and settled down with his pipe, "makes one think, doesn't it? ...what's taking them so long?" 

"The boy's causing chaos in the other trucks, sir," the gunner reported, giving a running commentary of the goings on in the team's struggle to regain their prisoner, "but it looks like Major Hinaga has him cornered."

"About time," Iroh groaned, "this whole affair's already worn on longer than it's really needed to. And doesn't this road get any less rocky? My knees are starting to dance off my body."

"Should be smoother travel soon, General," the wiry old driver with half his teeth missing turned back to inform the retired old man, smiling as he did so, since he was looking forward to smoother travel too.

The driver turned back and peered into the lit road ahead. Pebbles and bumps flew past as the headlights illuminated the rushing ground. He always took care to avoid obstacles, and considered himself good at spotting them before the Chiyoda hit them. He spotted one such obstacle ahead. It was a small, squat thing, probably a part of a tree stump or something. He paid it little heed. The Chiyoda was more than resilient enough to swat it away with a decent punt.

Consequently, he was surprised beyond all reason when the headlights lit up Gakki, tied up and sat in the middle of the road, screeching at the top of his lungs, "_STOOOOOP!_"

No time to brake, no space to turn, no time to decide. The driver screamed in surprise himself and swerved hard on the wheel. The sudden turn sent the Chiyoda into a spin, and centripetal forces tipped the whole vehicle on its side, forcing all its occupants out of their seats. Forward momentum kept the car rumbling forward towards Gakki, tearing up earth and crushing everything in its path. The captive technician screwed his eyes tightly shut as he braced himself for the crunch. The car tore forward, inching closer and closer, gradually, nail-bitingly, slowly coming to a halt mere inches from Gakki.

The car came to a rest, and the engine cut off by itself. Draped in darkness, missing his pipe and lying upside down, Iroh groaned painfully, "_much _smoother travel. Thank you kindly for informing me. I never would have noticed otherwise."

Gakki was still braced for impact, and only gradually realised he was still alive. The technician began to laugh uncontrollably at his unbelievable luck, washed over in relief. Then the car inched forward with a crunching bang, and Gakki squealed as he braced himself again, whimpering with every impact the careering trucks made into the fallen armoured car.

* * *

Unable to brake in time, the rear-most truck crunched into the developing pile-up. The sudden halt sent both Aang and Zuko flying off the roof of the truck and barrel-rolling into the tarpaulin of the middle truck's roof. Zuko landed first, cushioned by baggy fabric, and Aang landed after...cushioned by Zuko. 

Regaining his senses, Aang quickly took in the sorry state of the convoy and counted his blessings. He got to his feet while Zuko was still groaning himself upright, and climbed up the roof to the cabin of the rear truck. The rear truck had ran straight into the middle truck, so he didn't really need to 'climb' anything, since the cabin was half-way inside the middle truck as it was. Looking up and over, Aang noticed that the sounds of the truck's engines had ceased. Instead, a new sound had appeared, somewhere ahead of the monk. The sound of a particularly guttural bee.

Aang peered down the canyon the convoy had been travelling down, and as the source of the sound came into focus, a feeling of excited happiness washed over the boy. It was Sokka and Katara, riding one of those strange things he'd seen before in Usutai. His friends. His friends had come to save him.

* * *

The soldier blinked himself awake. In the rear truck that held much of the squadron's materials, they had been relatively untouched by all the drama surrounding Aang's escape, and the first thoughts of the Japanese soldiers was that they were under attack. The soldier was an elder, a mainstay of General Hinaga's personal corps who had remained with Zuko, and so battle-hardened his skin could probably deflect bullets. The other soldiers mildly concussed, it was thus left to him to respond to the threat. 

He looked out the back of the truck and saw the approaching motorcycle. Not Japanese make, for certain, so it had to be the enemy. Instinctively, the soldier reached into one of the equipment racks and pulled out a stick grenade, raising it high and waiting until the right moment to fling it.

* * *

Iroh kicked open the turret hatch of the Chiyoda and staggered out, rubbing his head to ward off the approaching headache. He twisted his body this way and that and heard his spine crack several times as his bones clicked back into place. 

"This is a mockery of the word 'retirement'," Iroh griped to no one in particular. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the approaching motorcycle, and began wandering to the crushed rear of the convoy out of curiosity, asking aloud "what's going on there?"

* * *

"I wasn't even sure that'd work!" Sokka impressed himself as he readied his rifle for the inevitable showdown with Zuko's men. 

Katara peered out from behind Sokka, and called excitedly "I can see him! I can see Aang! He's alright!"

"Great! Less work for us!" Sokka smiled as he too saw Aang climbing over the remains of the truck to meet them. His joy turned into worry, however, when he saw the threat approaching from behind, "that's not good."

* * *

Aang Anil was overjoyed. He began running forward over the roof of the truck to get away from Zuko's squadron and meet his friends again. But Major Hinaga was incapable of giving up. Aang leapt ahead, only to suddenly have his left leg grappled from under him, Zuko gripping tightly to Aang's bare ankle. So close. The weight of the both of them was too much, the force too great, so the monk and the officer tumbled together as the roof of the truck collapsed. 

The roof's collapse knocked over the soldier standing poised at the back of the truck, and shunted the grenade out of his hand. Zuko, Aang, and the grenade plummeted into the dirt behind the crashed truck, coming to a rest with Aang lying face-down on one side, Zuko lying flat on his back on the other, and the grenade freed from its inhibitor rolling to a stop between them, armed and primed.

"_Aang...Aang..._" a voice drew Aang back to his senses, blearily raising his head out of the dirt. Everything seemed slowed down, catching every individual second like it was ten. His awareness was heightened, but simultaneously confused, and he peered around with slowly blinking eyes. He peered down the canyon and saw the motorbike approaching, still some distance away. Sokka was gritting his teeth in concentration, but Katara's expression affected him the most. It was creeping over with a growing horror, a despairing realisation of something deeply wrong. Aang saw Katara's lips mouth her words slowly, "..._Aang!_"

The sound of his name rebounded cacophonously inside his skull. Wondering what she was worried about, he slowly looked forward. Zuko was getting back up to his knees, snarling in anger. But the expression wavered as his eyes flittered past the ground beneath them. They looked up towards Aang, filled inexplicably with a fear he hadn't witnessed before in the scarred teenager. Still confused, he looked down at the unassuming cylinder coming to a rest between them.

He finally got it. Aang's eyes flared as he realised what he was looking at. He hadn't thought much of it before, but the reactions of everyone around him allowed Aang to piece together the danger of what was in front of him. The fuse crackled with energy, and for Aang a possibility that the monk purposefully kept distant was now an utter certainty.

Aang was going to die.

He gazed forever at the instrument of his death, unable to move as he hadn't the time to. The void opened up before him and enticed him in. He had no choice but to follow, past his own slow, limited self to an endless world of emptiness where everyone was as one, indivisible, inviolable...forever.

Time disappeared.

A raging flash nearly blinded Aang's eyes, and the monk curled up to protect himself from the explosion. He rejected the void and became himself again...and took some of the void with him.

Noticing he was still in one piece, Aang opened one eye, and then the other, peeking in-between his fingers. His hands fell away, his jaw dropping, at the sight before him. A perfect sphere of air shimmered around a bright yellow starburst, spreading out from the fragmented remains of the grenade on the ground like a flaming tree, wispy tendrils of flying dust frozen in mid-air. It felt like he could reach over and touch it, this solid, immoveable explosion. Time had disappeared in a small corner of the world, and saved his life.

* * *

Sokka couldn't be heard over the engine, muttering disbelievingly "it's...beautiful." 

The paused explosion, this miraculous freak of nature, reflected pin-pricks of yellow into the centre of Katara's eyes.

* * *

"It's true...it really is true..." Iroh staggered ever forward.

* * *

Zuko was shocked into immobility, left incapable of reacting to the starburst. His eyes we hypnotised by the frozen display of the Qoghusula's power. For the first time in three years, he felt a sense of awe. 

Aang was unable to move himself, as he had no idea whether ceasing to concentrate on it would make it 'fast forward' into a regular explosion and blow him to bits. He never realised he was capable of such things. Such...impossible things.

His senses were shut tight. He never noticed the motorcycle running past behind him until he was tugged violently up at speed and pulled up onto Appa, tugged up off his spot with a kick of dust.

Zuko was still transfixed, and simply, humbly sat there gazing into the starburst as it slowly began to enter time again. Abruptly, his shoulders were grabbed by the hands of an old man, and Iroh pulled Major Hinaga harshly to cover behind the vehicle, ordering fiercely, "_get down!_"

The explosion returned to full speed, rocking the back of the truck and blowing its roof clean off. The soldier who had thrown the grenade was blown off his feet and used his comrades as a cushion. Leaning up in confusion, the soldier looked out at the crater, at his hand, and at the crater again, remarking "I don't remember 'em ever doing _that_..."

* * *

Aang found himself in the best place he could imagine in that moment, held tightly in the arms of the Mongolian nurse Katara. Their clothes rippled by the speed of the wind as they rode, and Sokka spoke up loudly, "hey! Get him in the side-car! I need to balance the bike!" 

Aang looked up into the face of Katara, crying from relief that he was still alive. Profoundly grateful, Aang gave a fierce, silent hug back. Bringing himself back to the task at hand, he looked around and saw the empty side-car, quickly sliding into it and hanging on tightly, asking aloud, "we gotta go!"

"On it!" Sokka revved up faster, grinning from ear to ear at out-foxing the soldiers who had humiliated him so soon before. The bike rode past the left of the convoy, avoiding the crashed trucks. Before them, the Chiyoda had come to a halt squeezed between two large bumps, cutting off the road completely...to vehicles that weren't motorbikes at any rate. Appa tore forward more quickly, and Sokka called out "brace yerselves!"

Katara and Aang did just that. The nurse emitted a squeal of terror while the monk uttered a squeal of excitement. The bike rolled up the bump, and the speed they hit the incline launched the bike into the air. Katara closed her eyes and Aang laughed with joy.

Appa clunked back onto the road, losing no more than a couple of screws, and roared forward unstoppably, putting a chasm of distance between themselves and the convoy.

* * *

"Zuko!" Iroh cried, trying to stop the boy as he ran at full tilt towards the front of the convoy. He leapt up to the top of one of the road-blocking bumps, aiming his pistol determinedly at the fast retreating bike. Appa was already well ahead, but Zuko might have been able to let off a shot if he could just have enough time to hone in on his target. As the bike got further away, the harder this process became. Eventually, a cloud of dust kicked up behind, he couldn't see the group at all. 

Major Hinaga growled. The kids had made an idiot out of him, and even worse was the knowledge that he had his lifelong goal right in his clutches. Right in _his _clutches. And yet he got away, destroying their means of pursuit as he escaped. This...this wasn't _right_. This wasn't _fair_. This wasn't..._destiny_.

Zuko threw his pistol angrily at the ground, making a Nambu-shaped indentation in the dirt. He consequently winced as the pistol let off a shot into the air. Iroh laid a comforting hand on Zuko's shoulder, cautioning, "you really shouldn't throw loaded weapons around like that, nephew."

* * *

The bike had rode off the beaten track for some miles until they were quite certain of not being followed. The night's events had left them all thoroughly exhausted...Aang most of all. So when they parked themselves in a gap of a cliff, they gratefully flopped out and practically fell asleep on the spot. 

Sunlight hit Aang's eyelids, and he awoke blinking sporadically. They had hidden themselves fairly high up a hillside, overlooking a long river valley. While their side was still noticeably sparse of vegetation, the other side was lush with forests and fields. They had finally left the tendrils of the Gobi Desert, free not only of Mongolia but all vestiges of Mongolia's influence on her surroundings. The bald-headed, bare-foot boy monk stretched his arms, and looked at the sleeping others. It was still early, as a summer morning, and they hadn't been as scrupulously trained in getting up at the crack of dawn as he had back in the monastery...back in Tibet.

Would it be as he remembered it?

Katara stirred, and Aang felt something stir himself. He looked away when he found himself blushing, and mentally slapped himself. The Gelugpa was very specific on the principle of celibacy. Aang sagged...as if that kind of thing still mattered after all this. Well, he thought, it had to. Some of Zuko's words still had force. He had run away from his responsibilities, and the world obviously needed help...any help...to regain its fragile equilibrium.

Once the group was awake, they quickly moved to organise things. Sleeping bags were packed and the motorbike checked over for any wear or tear. Katara suggested a change of clothes to Aang, and handed over a small bundle with a smiling wink at the monk. Confused, he stepped behind a rock to change and quickly realised what Katara was winking about. Sandals slapped against stone as Aang Anil, Qoghusula, walked into sight wrapped in his traditional monastic clothes. The cloth felt soft and familiar against his skin, and he rejoined the others with a smile on his face. It felt good to be back in his...'skin' again.

"You look great, Aang," Katara smiled at the monk being back to his old self again, and feeling so at home with himself.

"He looks like a walking curtain, stop kidding yourself," Sokka opinionated. Aang laughed. The moment was too perfect to bring down with mere smart-talk.

Breakfast was simple...some stored fruits and emergency food cans. Aang gulped it down hurriedly, and Katara had to steady his intake, as he couldn't honestly remember the last time he ate. Sokka was only marginally more careful with his food, being the strong red-blooded male he pretended to be, so Katara decided that as the medical authority of the group _she _was in charge of administering food.

"Okay," Sokka acquiesced, "a woman's place is in the kitchen, after all."

After breakfast was cleared away and Sokka stopped griping about the painful slap-mark on his face, the group held conference.

"So going home ain't an option, I take it?" Katara asked out loud, just to get that possibility out of the way.

"I overheard Zuko in the car. Don't know how, but he got this message that the whole border's on the look-out for 'three Mongolian bandits on a motorcycle'," Aang told the others, "I don't know how you guys did it, but I don't think you're gonna do it again."

"Even if we could, there's no way we could hide your identity to the Mongolian authorities, Aang," Sokka pointed out, "the Party guy they sent to make sure the prisoner was returned would have brought his friends with him. If we get home, you'll probably be pushed straight back out again into the waiting arms of the Japanese. And things won't exactly be rosy for us two either."

"So...what do we do?" Aang asked cautiously.

Katara turned and glanced knowingly at the monk, "you tell us."

Aang nodded in understanding, and looked down at the dirt, feeling slightly ashamed at his actions, "I'm sorry for bringing you into this. I never wanted anyone to get hurt..."

"Don't worry about it! We brought _ourselves _into this!" Sokka waved off the self-pity, "although it would've helped if you just told us you were some freaky super-monk with power over time and space in the _first _place. Honestly, I wouldn't have minded. In fact, I would probably have been much, much less of a jerk to you. So why all the secrecy?"

Aang didn't have a ready answer for Sokka, but Katara knew what he wanted to say "you just wanted to be 'you' for a little while, didn't you?"

The boy twiddled his toes as he related the story, "I'm the Qoghusula, an aspect of the Buddha Vairocana, reincarnated over many generations to bring humanity in touch with the emptiness inside all of us. I can sense the Void, in a corner of my mind, if I concentrate hard. And if I can concentrate hard enough, I can manipulate the very fabric of the universe. But I can't control it. I'm not even sure I _want _to control it."

"Why not!?" Sokka challenged, "I'd kill to be able to do those kinds of things."

"Because you don't know what it feels like," Aang shot back, "it feels...like you're foam on the ocean, and any moment you know you'll disintegrate. Everyone else...they can't feel it. It's just living to them. But I can feel it, and every time I get close to it, to the Void...I can feel myself disappearing. I'm always afraid that if I push too far...I won't get back again. I won't be me anymore. I'd be...everything. And nothing."

Sokka rubbed his head wearily, "what a load of...listen, even if _any _of this is right, there have been Qoghusulas before you, right? Did any of _them _vanish in a puff of smoke?"

"Everyone thought_ I _did, from what you told me," Aang pointed out.

"But...wait! If you were trained in your skills, developed them, then you might be able to use them without..._disappearing_," Katara considered.

"And then what?" Aang asked aloud.

"And then you can stop people dying," Katara implored the Qoghusula, "...please."

Aang Anil thought hard, then looked up at the rising sun. His robes fluttered in the wind, and he contemplated in utter seriousness. He made his choice, "okay. If we go to Tibet, we can find monks from my old sect and train me how to be a Qoghusula."

"_Finally!_" Sokka slapped his knees and got to his feet, "I mean, sheesh, we were gonna do that the whole time _anyway_..."

"But _first_..." Aang held a finger up to Sokka, studying him closely, "...you got a motorcycle."

"Its name's 'Appa' and it's a BMW R-71 with a 750cc engine, 22 horsepower and a top spee-" Sokka began to reel off the details with arms crossed.

Aang hunched over and smiled wildly, hands clamped together pleadingly "can I ride it?"

"No!" Sokka declared forcefully.

"Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pleeeaaase?" Aang smiled wider and attempted the largest, shiniest eyeballs he could physically bulge to sway over Sokka's cold heart.

"I said _no!_" Sokka turned away, "it's _my _bike and only _I _can ride it!"

"With sugar on top?" Aang implored, following Sokka.

"What part of 'no' don't you get?" Sokka winged. Katara was doubling over in laughter at the exchange.

They prepared to set off, across the valley and down, further into China. Well aware of the dangers ahead, but knowing the risks had to be faced. For the sake of everything. The bike roared to life and took off with a scrunch of pebbles and dirt, rumbling down the freshly-lit valley. The sun was still low on the horizon...rising over the east.

END OF PART ONE

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Look forward to Part Two, coming soon! ...ish!

This first part follows the premiere episodes of the show relatively closely, but from this point on they're going to diverge increasingly sharply. There wouldn't be much point making an AU if I just retold the story in 1940s clothing. In any case with eight parts to go it's going to be hard to cram _everything _in, especially when I don't _need _to. But there'll definitely be sign-posts for events that correspond with the series, since they're going to follow something of a pattern as far as areas and moods go.

Can't be more specific. That would be _spoiling! _For now, it's off to Hailar, and beyond.


	11. Pt 2 Ch 1: Rising Sun

One could see the shadows of lonely clouds drifting over the long, flat grasslands. The Hailar river valley had opened up into a wide, open length of lush, green grazing fields. At the speed Appa was travelling at, it looked like they were skimming across an open green sea, with islands popping up either side of them. They were nearer the northern side of the valley, alongside a river that was barely noticeable in the high grass. The dirt road ahead provided no obstacles, and the openness of the land meant that the wind whirled through the group in a loud torrent.

Aang was exhilarated. He hadn't had the chance to properly enjoy riding on a speeding motorcycle, and was lapping up the experience for all it was worth. It was hard enough keeping him in his seat. He felt an overwhelming urge to stand straight up in the side car and spread out his arms, to act like he was flying. After preventing many attempts, Katara eventually decided to stop being such a killjoy and let him do it. The monk wore a jacket over his robes, and both fluttered and flapped in the wind. His jacket trailed and whipped around behind him, like a half-opened parachute. He couldn't stop laughing, and Katara couldn't stop laughing with him.

"Stop that!" Sokka snapped, turning his goggled eyes towards Aang briefly, "you'll knock the bike off-balance!"

Aang giggled as he slumped back down energetically. He'd been satisfied. Katara's senses were overloaded with new sensations and sights. It was hard to take it all in, mumbling aloud "all my life! I never saw this much...green!"

"You're gonna see a whole lot more than this before this trip's over with!" the monk bragged, "won't be long on this thing! How fast are we going!?"

"About 80kph!" Sokka grinned at the power he possessed in his gloves. But he was obliged to add the remainder, "we're gonna haveta stop fer fuel soon!"

"Fuel!?" Aang asked aloud, exhilaration dampened by confusion, "you mean...like...wood!?"

Sokka cocked a glance at the naïve bald-headed boy from the past, then burst out laughing, "sure! We'll stop ta get some _firewood_! Throw some _logs_ inta th' _furnace_!"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Aang admitted his own ignorance, "so what _does _it run on!?"

"Petroleum!" Sokka smugly reeled off his technical know-how, "comes from thick, black, gooey stuff called 'oil'! Everything uses the stuff!" The soldier paused to give a knowing glance to the monk, and to the bike itself, "but _this _baby in particular needs something I like to call 'tender loving care'! Don't suppose you've heard of it, being a monk 'n everything!"

"Actually, I probably know more than most people!" Aang leant back in the side-car, put his feet up, crossed his arms and smiled at the soldier, "being a monk 'n everything!"

"Pfft! Sure, you suck up to some invisible floaty stuff, but the bond between a biker and his ride is an unbreakable, symbiotic companionship! It's a beautiful thing, Aang!" Sokka began stroking the bike fondly, "'cuz nothing ain't ever gonna come between the two of us! Ain't that right, Appa!? I know we'll be faithful friends for the rest of our lives!"

"Sokka..." Katara spoke softly over the engine, deeply concerned with her brother's mental well-being, "are you talking to your bike?"

Sokka looked back condescendingly, seeing nothing wrong with what he was doing, "he needs constant love and affection! Fiend!"

The Mongolian nurse, peering over Sokka's shoulder at the way ahead, and noticing a split in the road ahead, one path heading forward and the other turning into another valley emerging to the right of them. She tapped her brother's shoulder, looking serious, "hey...can we stop for a second!?"

Sokka was about to protest, but one look into his sister's eyes told him that this wasn't jolly capers time anymore, "okay!"

The motorbike pulled up by the side of the road, partly obscured by the grass so long as anyone riding past didn't look too closely. Sokka used the opportunity to check the bike's coolant level, while Aang stretched his legs and Katara pulled an ordinance map out of the rear of the bike. Spreading it across the bike seat, it depicted a fairly hefty swathe of eastern Mongolia, with a tiny portion of Manchuria for good measure. The corners of the map fluttered in the wind.

"So we're about here," Katara pointed at a location near the extreme edge of the map: a long, thin depression with a black and white striped line snaking alongside it, marked the 'Hailar River'. It was some way north of the Halha River border, a small 'peninsula' of Mongolia that jutted into China like a fist. It was well east of the rest of Mongolia. The Hailar River split into two at Katara's fingertip, with one estuary continuing east and the other splitting off south. The striped line continued east then swerved slightly southward...off the edge of the map. South of the point the river split lay a large town.

Katara explained further "this far north, we won't run into too many troops since they're concentrated on the border and this area's too sparsely populated to bother with much of an occupation force. But the further south we go, the harder it's gonna be to keep ourselves unnoticed."

"The old man said that the 'Kwantung Army' is looking for 'three Mongolian bandits on a motorcycle heading due east'," Aang reported off the top of his head, "hey, I been meaning to ask, what is the 'Kwantung Army', anyway? Everyone talks about these people, and I know Zuko doesn't work for 'em, but who are they?"

"_The bad guys_," Sokka concentrated on fiddling with his bike, "they're the biggest force in the Japanese military, and the ones doing all the invading for the last decade. They're supposed to follow the commands of the politicians in Tokyo, but in practice they answer to no one but themselves. And we're the ones who suffer for it." Sokka twisted open the water-level meter valve bitterly, "so they're looking for three bandits going east on a motorbike, _but_...they're not looking for two Mongolian teenagers and one Buddhist monk travelling north on foot, are they?"

"Exactly. We're still in what used to be Inner Mongolia, so running into ethnic Mongolians wouldn't set off alarms for the Japanese, so long as we're not on a bike," Katara peered at the map, "just ahead of us is the town of Hailar. It lies along the South Manchurian Railway, so all we need to find is a train heading south and it'll take us all the way to Beijing."

"We know that already. We agreed that before we set off," Sokka replaced the water-level meter and poked his head over Katara's shoulder at the map along with Aang, "and the more often we stop to _plan _it the more likely we'd be caught before carrying it out."

"But that's just it, we don't _have _a plan," Katara voiced her concerns, "we have a vague ambition to get on a train somehow. That isn't the same thing."

"We got a plan!" Sokka railed at the sceptical eye of his sister. Realising he wasn't making much of an impression, he elaborated "okay, I might not have _told _you it yet, but we do have one!"

"So what is it?" Aang's curiosity was piqued.

"Easy!" Sokka poked a finger high, "we need funds to get tickets for the train, right? Obviously we can't jus' promise 'em livestock, we need _currency_. So what do we have that can raise the necessary cash?" The soldier wandered around to pick up the worse-for-wear Qoghusula-detecting instrument they'd acquired from the Japanese, "the whachamacallit thingymajigger! A unique and valuable piece of equipment that _someone's _gotta be prepared to pay a pretty penny for. More than enough for tickets."

"And maps?" Katara waved the East Mongolia map a little way off the seat.

"And maps," Sokka admitted, sliding his rifle off his shoulder, "we should probably hock this as well. It's Soviet weaponry and I doubt they'll let someone on the train with one of these. That should get us a little more moolah. And then we can sneak the motorcycle on-board and..."

"Stop!" Katara's hand flew up to pause her brother's plan, "I thought we agreed to go on foot to make us less suspicious?"

"We _are _going on foot!" Sokka defended his plan vigorously, "we'll hide Appa on the outskirts of the town, get our tickets and whatnot, then sneak the bike in and onto one of the cargo cars..."

"Which completely defeats the point of hiding it in the _first _place!" Katara countered angrily, "so we sneak all the way through the town and around a train yard with this _monstrosity _and stuff the whole thing in a train carriage while no one's looking? Am I the only one who sees how incredibly _stupid _that sounds?"

"It's not stupid! It's..." Sokka jabbed an accusing finger, running out of argument, "well...whaddya want me ta do!? Sell it!?"

"Yes," Katara said, brooking no disagreement, "that'll get us more than enough money to net us extra supplies."

"You never liked Appa from the moment you set eyes on him!" Sokka took this suggestion very personally.

"Sokka..." Aang stepped into the conversation, playing the role of peacekeeper, "I know you're really attached to Appa, but Katara's right. It'll only make getting to Tibet that much harder to carry this with us like a millstone. In the end...it's only a machine."

"But...but...the bond of unbreakable, symbiotic companionship!" Sokka protested desperately.

"I'm sorry Sokka, but you have to let go," the monk placed a sympathetic hand on the soldier's shoulder. Sokka's lower lip was getting wobbly.

"Oh, alright," Sokka sighed, patting the engine nostalgically, "we've had some good times, you and I..."

"You've only rode him for one day..." Katara muttered in disbelief, collecting materials back together to stuff in the back, "but at least we got a plan. I just hope we _can _sell these things. It's gotta be more difficult than you think."

"What makes you say that?" Sokka asked, gradually getting over his distressing separation, "it's not like we'll have a language problem or anything. Mother taught us both Chinese."

"Sure, but what if we run into a Japanese soldier? How do we explain away a motorcycle and a Soviet rifle then?" Katara asked pointedly.

"I know Japanese!" Aang piped up joyfully, "_and _Mandarin Chinese! Just leave the talking to me."

"No offence, Aang, but you don't exactly strike me as a smooth-talker," Sokka commented.

"You know Mongolian, Chinese, Japanese, Tibetan..." Katara muttered, "how come you know so many?"

"The Rime Movement gave me a crash course in pretty much every language under the sun," Aang peered into the inside of his upper eyelids as he recalled, "I know Mongolian, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Manchu, Korean, uhhh..." he began counting off his fingers, "...Vietnamese, Cambodian, Thai, Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu, Farsi, Russian, German, French, English, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Latin, Greek...ancient and modern...Arabic, Polish, Magyar, Dutch, Filipino aaand about a couple dozen others I can't remember off the top of my head but soon as I hear 'em...easy."

"Oh..." Katara was surprised, embarrassed and a little intimidated by the boy's breadth of knowledge, "well...we know some Chinese..."

"Oh! Mandarin or Cantonese?" Aang asked innocently.

"Uh...yeah, one of those," Katara coughed, brightening up as she pointed a thumb back at Sokka, "Sokka knows a bit of Russian!"

Sokka pumped a fist rhythmically as he energetically reeled off the the first verse of _La Internationale_, "_Vstavay, proklyat'yem zakleymënnyy!_"

"'Arise, those who are branded with a curse'?" Aang squinted at the unfamiliar song, before smiling broadly, "you'll have to sing me the rest of that some day. Sounds pretty fun!"

Sokka was half-listening as a realisation came over him, "so _that's _what it means..." After due consideration you could practically see the lightbulb sparking off above his head, and he lurched forward to grab onto Aang's shoulders, exclaiming with deadly seriousness, "Aang...could you translate an English-language jazz tune?"

"I'm...not too sure what a 'jazz tune' is, but I'll give it a shot..." Aang shrugged.

"Let's...refocus, shall we?" Katara leaned over the bike at Sokka and Aang, "selling things. How to do it without anyone telling the Japanese."

"Why would they?" Sokka exclaimed, letting go of Aang. As the monk trundled away to get blood pumping through his legs before the next leg of motorcycling, Sokka faced his sister, "these are native Chinese people! They must hate the Japanese as much as we do! _More _than we do, even. They'd be happy to help anyone working against the creeps occupying their homes."

"Yeah...emphasis on _occupying_," Katara countered, ignoring Aang as he wandered towards the road, "the Japanese are the ones running things around here. Local sympathy don't count fer much when the locals ain't calling the shots."

"This is the ass-end of Inner Mongolia!" Sokka exclaimed, "how a big a presence can the Japanese _have _around here?"

"Guys!?" Aang called out from the road, transfixed by something ahead of them, "should...you...y'know that town you're talking about? Should it..._look _like that?"

Sokka and Katara broke from their argument and followed the boy to the road, looking down at something they could just make out ahead. They had stopped some way from the split in the track, but on the slightly higher ground of the road one could see into the valley that split off south. In that valley lay a great, black, mass of sprawl, stretching across the entire gap and sitting there like a clump of dark moss. From it, there rose countless tendrils of black smoke, forming a small cloud of their own on this bright, cloudless day. It looked like the valley had been burnt to a crisp, but the tendrils of smoke were too even. Too regular. It was the smoke of industry and mechanics, the burn mark the sooted mass of concrete and steel. It was the town of Hailar transformed from a sleepy rural into a metallic intersection of productivity and steam. It was an achievement of power and modernity that could have erupted from only one source.

"That answer your question, Sokka?" Katara grunted.

* * *

Hailar occupied a significant length of the southern valley, pooling inside it like a concrete lake. It was a hard place to miss, especially when approaching it from the south like the lengthy entourage of half-beaten trucks and listing armoured car was doing. Closer to the town, the roads had suddenly acquired concrete, making the long, arduous trawl towards the Kwantung Army base on the southern outskirts of Hailar a lot more manageable. The Chiyoda veered off the main road and down a smaller side-road that led across the river and around the town to the base. Separated from the town proper, the base was surrounded by high barbed wire that bordered the strategically-important South Manchurian Railway, an adjunct of the Trans-Siberian Railway that led all the way back to Moscow. A side-railing veered off the railway and into the base, running along the northern edge before going back through a gate in the fence and onto the railway again. On the siding sat one of the numerous armoured trains that projected Japanese power across Manchuria, sitting still and unmoving but poised to move again at any moment. Its presence meant that a sizeable unit was currently in the base, restocking and replenishing.

Rows of huts and various ammunition dumps occupied the base, lined up in scrupulously organised hierarchical layouts. They led up to a large building that obviously pre-dated the base...a grey stately manor that clashed stylistically with the town, let alone the base. At the entrance of the base was a series of gates manned by armed guards. Either side of the entrance, overlooking the base, were two flags. One was yellow with a square of multi-coloured horizontal stripes in one corner, the standard of the puppet regime of Manchukuo, while the other was the red disc-on-white of the Japanese Empire. Neither flag meant anything in this place. The only thing that mattered was the sign that popped up to the side of the gate, handily informing anyone approaching in both Japanese and Chinese that the base was under the overall command of the Kwantung Army.

From inside the chugging, struggling armoured car, Major Zuko Hinaga took off his cap and wiped his gloved hand across his sweaty forehead. Throwing himself into a pit of snakes felt preferable to dealing with these people, but he had no choice in the matter. There was no one else with the resources to repair his stricken convoy. Peering through the slit of the Chiyoda, he saw a guard ahead stepping forward from the gate and waving down the convoy to a halt. Snarling, Zuko shoved open the side-door of the armoured car and clambered out, marching assertively towards the guard.

"Sorry, I'm going to have to see some identif...ica...tio..." the guard's spiel strangled to a halt. He was a soldier of considerable experience and had seen his fair share of combat, but Zuko's stabbing glare was identification enough even for him. He bowed respectfully, "apologies, sir!"

The guard skirted away rapidly and professionally, waving the gate open. Zuko, for his part, stood back to one side and waved the convoy through. It took some time to get everyone in, since two of the vehicles weren't even functioning, and the remaining functioning truck was barely in a state to tow along itself, let alone another truck. The Chiyoda was largely unscathed, barring a tendency for the wheels to veer left for no apparent reason, but didn't have the raw power to tow a larger vehicle with any kind of speed. All in all, the force was a laughing stock. Conveniently, the still-running truck waited until it was well inside the base before dying in a puff of smoke.

Uncle Iroh stepped out of the Chiyoda and stretched his creaking joints. Zuko clapped his hands urgently, prompting the soldiers of his unit, "get moving! Get moving! Faster! Faster! Faster! I want a complete damage assessment and repair inventory inside the hour! On the double!"

"You're pushing them too hard..." Iroh wandered over to Zuko and whispered in his ear, "they've had a rough night. They need rest."

"I had him," Zuko stared ahead unrepentant, "two years in exile looking for this being and I had him right in my hands. If we don't pick up his trail soon we might not get a second chance."

"I'd be careful about talking about such matters in this place if I were you," Iroh cautioned, glancing around and noticing the swaggering figure walking tall out of the manor-cum-headquarters. The wily old man added sarcastically, "though I'm sure if you asked this gentleman very nicely he'd be happy to help out of the goodness of his sweet, golden heart."

Zuko whirled around and found himself looking into a face that took all his willpower for him not to punch. The man that stood with hands held firmly behind his back was half a head taller than him, sported enormous sideburns and maintained a face that even when not smiling smugly still held an overwhelming aura of smugness. His uniform was scrupulously crisply clean compared to Zuko's rumpled and torn officer's outfit, and the star on the man's cap could reflect sunlight into people's eyes. His breast was adorned with medals and ribbons, and a meticulously polished sword sheath hung from his hip. He was clearly a man with a unabashedly high opinion of himself, and Zuko despised him with every fibre of his being.

"Zhao..." Zuko's eyes narrowed, poison dripping from just that one word.

"...forgetting something, Major?" Zhao uttered half-amused. He tipped his head slightly to one side, drawing attention to his collar and the inconvenient piece of insignia sewn into it. While both he and Zuko had three red stripes inside their rectangular yellow patches, Zhao's had three pips compared to Zuko's one.

Zuko's fists clenched, but Major Hinaga bit the bullet and bowed ceremonially to his superior, "Colonel Kokami, sir."

"That's more like it," Colonel Zhao Kokami muttered dismissively, looking beyond the scarred teenager towards the portly man behind, nodding respectfully, "and it's an honour to have the great General Hinaga with us again."

"Oh, just call me Iroh," the uncle waved away the formalities. Iroh, dressed in an unkempt General's uniform that didn't even have collar insignia, was exempt from the normal laws of hierarchical pleasantries, "we won't be here very long. Just until my nephew's unit is fully re-supplied."

"_'Re-supplied'_ is a polite way of putting it," Zhao peered past the both of them to look over the pathetic remains of Zuko's convoy, "how on earth did it get into that state?"

"Bandits!" Zuko quickly piped up before Iroh could interrupt, "Chinese bandits! Hiding in the Manchurian hinterland. Very insecure place. But we beat them off just fine. Nothing to worry about. Really."

"Interesting..." Zhao rubbed his chin in curiosity, "I may not have been in command here for very long, but I'm reasonably certain my humble district is one of the most secure in all of Manchukuo. If you were to share some details about this group of ruffians I'll be sure to...ah..._teach them their place_..."

"Oh, but it was so _dark _last night," Iroh entered into the swing of the deception, "came straight out of nowhere, so they did. And disappeared as if they were ghosts."

"Ghosts..." Zhao repeated sceptically, putting on a mask of sincerity, "still, by our common bond of Japanese blood I am honour-bound to extend my hospitality to the proud sons of the Hinaga clan. I welcome you to the Headquarters of the Manchouli Fortified District, the temporary station of 17th Division, 11th Kwantung Army. Our resources are at your disposal."

"Our gratitude, Colonel Kokami," Iroh nodded curtly.

"It is my pleasure, General," Zhao smiled deviously, cogs turning in his brain, "moreover, I would be delighted if you would join me for dinner this evening. Take your minds off your...troubles."

"We're busy-" Zuko snapped, before being interrupted by a sharp jab in the shin. The scarred officer turned to his uncle, who shook his head disapprovingly at Zuko's conduct. Major Hinaga sighed, bowed, and said through gritted teeth "it would be an honour, sir."

"Splendid!" Zhao brightened up and clapped his hands together, "we have much to discuss. Who knows? Maybe your 'Chinese bandit problem' and our 'Mongolian motorcycle bandit problem' are somehow related? Shall we say...1800?"

Zuko and Iroh looked at each other with alarm at the mention of Mongolian motorcycle bandits, but covered it up well. Zuko acknowledged "1800 hours, sir."

"Looking forward to it already," Zhao became suddenly wary of the extent Zuko's men were filling up the centre of his base with scrap, leaning forward to whisper in the Major's ear, "don't mess up my base, you hear?"

"No, sir," Zuko answered sharply. And with that Colonel Kokami turned around and walked back to the manor house headquarters, not giving the young Major a second glance.

Zuko was incensed, veins pulsing with rage. His hand unconsciously flew to his side-holster and pulled out his Nambu, eyes focused intently on the back of Zhao's head. Iroh laid a hand on the pistol, greatly alarmed "Zuko!"

"I'm not going to shoot him," Zuko re-assured his uncle, "I am simply expressing my anger in a visual and assertive manner to relieve my frustration healthily and productively."

"Put...the gun...back..." Iroh guided Zuko's hand to replace the pistol into its holster, sagging with relief once achieved and reaching instinctively into his tobacco pocket, "honestly. I should never have hired that psychologist. All he did was put ideas in your head. Some good old-fashioned common sense would have done you a world of good."

"If he finds out the Qoghusula is in Manchuria, it won't matter what I think," Zuko stated flatly, eyes still focused. The officer spun around and stopped a short distance from Lieutenant Gakki, as Zuko had somehow been able to tell that the technician was sneaking behind him. Gakki appeared momentarily surprised, but rapidly recovered his composure, as Major Hinaga commanded "how long until we get going!?"

"Sir, from the looks of things, gathering the materials alone will take most of the day," Gakki pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as he reported, clipboard under his arm, "if we bring in extra hands from the 17th, we might be able to have the unit up and running by sundown."

"That's not an option," Zuko peered suspiciously behind him as Iroh lit his pipe, "even if Zhao didn't make up some excuse not to help us, bringing in Kwantung Army men would jeopardise the security of our mission."

"Very well, sir," Gakki acquiesced, "in that case I can't guarantee operational status any sooner than noon tomorrow. I'll also need technical equipment to replace the Quantum Wavelength Detector."

"Looks like we're having dinner after all, nephew," Iroh puffed at his pipe and quipped to Zuko's annoyance. The scarred teenager took off his cap and scratched his hair in thought.

"Alright, get to work on repairing the vehicles for now," Zuko replaced his cap and ordered, "we'll have to see about technical equipment tomorrow morning. I'll see about finding materials. Make a careful catalogue of everything that needs to be done. Nothing must delay our departure."

"Yes...sir," Gakki laboured the 'sir' with a barely-concealed irritation, stiffening as he bowed in respect, giving Zuko a stern look as he did. The technician immediately set to work, and Zuko was left wondering what that strange expression meant.

"What's his problem?" Zuko asked aloud.

"I presume he is still angry over your abandoning him under fire in the Mongolian village," Iroh advised in-between puffs, "if his anger is not to fester and poison the atmosphere of your men, I would recommend apologising."

"They know the risks," Zuko responded coldly, walking off to manage his own affairs, "our mission is of overriding importance."

"Yes, as you never _cease _to remind us," Iroh waved his pipe around as he announced his perplexity to the heavens. He followed Zuko without another word, leaving the men to do the jobs they were trained to do.

* * *

Colonel Kokami watched the two head off towards the engineers' hut from a window on the second floor of the manor. The room was silent and cavernous. His hands never left his back, and his expression was fixed. He knew the Major was lying, as he knew a team of bandits of the size capable of doing that much damage to a mechanised infantry unit would never dare operate in a district garrisoned by a full division. The hapless exile had stumbled upon something else entirely. Zhao was aware of the experimental nature of Zuko's mission, and if the scarred boy's quest had revealed something, the Colonel was incredibly interested in finding out what that something was.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Not much of an update this time around. Just this one chapter. It's been a hard slog getting a temp job, and embarking on the rest of one's life and all that jazz. Far from being a chance to recharge my batteries and start afresh, if anything I've been _busier _than before. Also, if I don't get this up soon, come Friday it's going to be very, very buried, and I think you all know the reason why. My Book 3 fanfic ceases being speculation and starts being _redundant_. I give it a fond farewell. But with this, it's basically to remind everyone of its existence. And also to spur me into part two of this magnum opus. You will find more than one familiar face in the railhead of Hailar.

For future reference, 'Kokami' means 'Small God'. I thought it was a nice touch ;D.


	12. Pt 2 Ch 2: Land Of Countless Whispers

Sneaking into a town occupied by professional foreign troops and their local allies was hard, dangerous work. Sneaking into a town occupied by professional foreign troops and their local allies while dragging along a great big bleeding motorcycle bordered on the farcical. It was hard enough getting past the well-garrisoned bridge over the Hailar River, as the three youngsters waited nervously for the soldier looking over the west river to pause for a cigarette and made a nerve-racking rush across a narrow part of the waterway behind a patch of reeds, soaking themselves in the process as the shallow segment proved not as shallow as they first assessed. They were plain lucky that the unit guarding the bridge was part of a Manchukuo Army battalion. This far north of the major Manchurian population centres, the Japanese had concentrated on border security and maintaining transport hubs, leaving the policing of the few cities there were up here to Chinese collaborators who weren't exactly well-motivated to keep a watchful eye on potential enemies sneaking in. As they edged closer to the built-up, populated outskirts of Hailar, their luck became progressively more precarious.

They decided to hide the motorcycle with Sokka's rifle and the strange instrument near the outskirts of the town, at the edge of a nearby woodland where they hoped no one would come across it for some time. Just until they found...something. The glaring holes in their somewhat amateurish plan were starting to yawn widely as they continued an endless combination of wild dashes, silent creeping and innocent whistling past various groups of people whether they were soldiers or military policemen on patrol or not. They had no experience of this level of subterfuge, and that they had reached the sooty, muddy, gravelly roads that led past the vast factories at the edge of town was miraculous in itself. Their path was windy and counter-intuitive, as every effort to segue quietly into the crowds was aborted every time they caught sight of a soldier, whereupon they ducked low and flung themselves into a side-street. And a side-street after that. Until eventually it got to the point where there was no longer a side-street to fling themselves into...they were stuck making their way through narrow alley-ways of narrow alley-ways. Fortunately this meant little to no people to spot them. Unfortunately this also meant planting their feet into various piles of refuse and overripe fruit that alley-ways were practically built _for_.

That gangster film never told him about this kind of nonsense, Sokka griped internally as he stepped through another crushed pile of buzzing tomatoes. Aang didn't even want to know what he had just fished his sandal out of. Ironically, it might well have been fish. He couldn't honestly tell. Eventually they came to the end of an alleyway opening up into a main road and stopped to rest behind a pile of wooden boxes. Katara felt like blaming someone for the way she now smelt, "good job, Sokka. You're a real spymaster, y'know. You play the Japanese like the flute, so you do. The banana peels crawling up my sleeves? They just disguise us better! They'd never suspect a bunch of stinking homeless tramps would be a gang of partisan Mongolians escorting a potential Bodhisattva. Absolutely flawless lateral thinking there!"

"Look, only one of us has a sense of humour and it sure as hell ain't you," Sokka shushed his sister, crouching and peering around the wooden boxes at the passing crowd in the street. There was some kind of market on, with stalls set up along both sides of the street, and the soldier paid great attention to the various exchanges going on, insisting "belt up, woman. I need to concentrate."

"On what? Your own sense of self-importance?" Katara slumped against the brickwork, looking around at these strange and alien surroundings. The rag-tag collection of bricks and mortar that passed for urban dwellings in Eastern Mongolia were nothing compared to this place. Her thought processes were blocked with culture shock, and every new sound, sight and smell was disturbingly unfamiliar. The nurse had failed to register most of what she'd walked through today, as this place was such an assault on the senses that her senses had all but shut down as a consequence. She had absolutely no idea where they even were, and she wilfully swatted away thinking about the ramifications of this.

"No! On the people in this place!" Sokka explained, focusing carefully on every passer-by his eyes had time to process, "if we want to flog our things and get tickets and supplies for travelling to Beijing, we need to find the black market. The Japanese may control what's on the surface, but they can't control what's _underneath_. There, we'll find allies and people who can get us great wads of sweet, sweet, raw hard cash. I just need to figure out who's a spiv and who ain't."

"I knew that American muck would rot your brain..." Katara commented. The pause that drew in after the siblings' little spat allowed their senses to catch up with the smell of their surroundings, leading to Sokka clamping a hand across his nose and warding off a bout of hurling in order to concentrate, while Katara sneezed defensively before the stink had a chance to enter her circulatory system.

Aang settled down and waited, as silence descended over the group. He didn't mind the stench of the alley particularly much, as despite the overwhelming aroma of rotting foodstuffs, the smell was mixed with the odour so many disparate and fascinating chemicals and aerosols that the act of smelling was surprisingly pleasant. He was unaware of half the things he was smelling, so the experience was enormously instructive. He smiled as he remembered, despite the terrors and despite the homesickness for a time long gone and even despite the awesome fate that still lay ahead of him...he was on an adventure. An exciting adventure in a new world with two close friends, even if he had only met them yesterday.

He was in such a reflective state of mind that he didn't notice the half-eaten peach moving across the ground on its own accord until it bumped into the boy monk's shin. He frowned in confusion, looking down at the fruit as it embarked on its inexplicable travels, bouncing off various tin cans and empty bottles while trundling across. The boy was fairly sure that fruit wasn't supposed to walk around, particularly if it already had a huge bite taken out of it, but he couldn't be certain. After all, things do change in fifty years. He was scared to touch the thing. It might have exploded or something, like that small cylinder that nearly blew up in his and Zuko's faces last night. He couldn't rely on appearances any more...not that he was encouraged to in the first place. Being a Buddhist monk had its advantages when faced with time-shock.

Matters finally twigged when the peach came to a hole in the stonework at the foot of the other building and tried to pass through it. Obviously, it was far too big, but kept bouncing against the wall in an attempt to fit. Aang realised that it wasn't the fruit moving, it was something carrying the fruit that was many times smaller than the fruit itself. The bald-headed boy smiled and picked up the peach, looking underneath to see...nothing. He frowned again, and shot a glance at the fruit, seeing that nothing was clinging to it. Maybe half-eaten fruits did move on their own in the Twentieth Century, he decided. But there was nothing special about the peach. He'd eaten many that looked just like it. It was upon questioning this that he became aware of the tingling sensation running up his arm, across his shoulder and up his neck, finally pausing beneath his right ear. As he put a hand up to scratch, something sharp dug into his ear lobe.

"Ow!" Aang exclaimed, shooting his hand up and feeling something soft and furry hanging from his ear. He pulled back and found himself staring at brownish-white rodent trying incessantly to gnaw at him. The bald-headed boy chuckled, putting the peach down to pet the tiny creature, "hey there lil' fella, I'm not gonna hurt y-" Aang hissed in pain as a pair of incisors dug into his petting hand, drawing blood. Despite every instinct to throw the thing as far away from him as possible, he bit down on his lip and waited out the impetuous little rodent. He calmed himself, and spoke in soft tones, "it's okay, I won't _eat_ you. Even if it didn't go against my beliefs, people don't eat gerbils...as far as I know. C'mon buddy. It's okay. I'll take care of you."

The rodent slowly settled down, withdrawing its incisors until it finally realised it had nothing to fear from the human. It licked the tiny wound it made in a gesture of friendship, and when Aang released it from his grip the animal ran up the monk's jacket and rushed around his neck, tickling him before settling down in the folds of the boy's robes hanging over his shoulder. Aang dimly remembered encountering these creatures fifty years past in his travels north, and figure the male rodent to be a Mongolian Gerbil, a desert creature. It could gnaw through solid wood at a blistering pace, and had very good hearing. It must have inhabited these parts before Hailar expanded and took over its home. It was like Aang was...a tiny thing removed from its own time. Judging from the use of a half-eaten peach as rudimentary camouflage (since Aang was fairly certain overripe fruit was not part of his diet), the little thing had adapted well to its new environment. It was a good omen.

Katara emerged from her scent-induced huddle and caught the tail-end of this befriending. She leaned over to take some interest, chuckling as she commented "looks like you made a new friend!"

"I guess he needed one," Aang petted the lump beneath his saffron robe, thinking back to the peach as he decided, "it doesn't look like he wants to let go any time soon, so he might as well have a name. I'll call him Momo!"

Momo squeaked in support.

"That's him!" Sokka, entirely disinterested in the goings-on behind him, said quietly but sharply. He was deadly serious about something the other two were only vaguely aware of.

"That's who?" Katara asked.

"What's him?" Aang prodded the greater part of the mystery.

"That guy there!" Sokka pointed over the crates, and the others crowded forward to see who he was talking about, "the old-ish thin guy selling cabbages. He's _way_ too attached to them, like he's afraid of selling them. I bet that he's hiding stuff in those cabbages, selling them only to people who give the right wink, nod and secret handshake. He's our key to the underground and our ticket to Beijing, all rolled into one."

"He just looks paranoid, Sokka," Aang contributed his own opinion of the fidgety cabbage seller running a stall on the far side of the street, petting them gently and protecting them from every passer-by who threatened to intrude into his space, except for certain customers to whom he sold his vegetable wares.

"Yeah, that's what he _wants_ people to think," Sokka theorised, "he must be there to keep an eye on the comings and goings of this town. Seeking out new opportunities and assets as they rise and informing the underground about them. Catching sight of three newcomers from out of the country would be pretty damn interesting to the underground, I reckon. We tell him we have something to offer...secretly, of course...and he'll get us in touch with the black market and the anti-Japanese resistance."

"Are you sure those two are the same thing?" Katara asked sceptically.

Sokka scoffed, rolling his eyes and raising his nose in the air imperiously, "I know the comings and goings of the black market better than _you_, dear sister."

"I don't dispute that for a second," Katara cheerfully pointed out, "I know absolutely nothing, and you've seen one American gangster film and been fleeced by Oyun for the past year. The gap in our knowledge ain't exactly _wide_."

"Fine!" Sokka laid down the gauntlet, "if you think you can lead this team better than I can, then put your money where your mouth is, go out there and find someone to buy a German motorcycle. Right now! Show me you've got what it takes to be a leader!"

Sokka sat up straight and folded his arms, not once turning around to face the others, and waited for Katara's response. They were both completely silent.

"I thought so..." Sokka grinned in triumph, taking the silence as an admission of subservience to his brilliant and unparalleled intellect and keen tactical sense. The soldier stood up and prepared to walk into the street, "if no one has _any more_ objections, I'm going to catch us a ride sou-_uwah!_"

A Chinese Manchukuo military policeman wandered past the alleyway and looked down, seeing nothing more suspicious than piles of trampled fruit and a rapidly slamming door. The collaborator wasn't interested in putting himself in danger by investigating further, so he simply shrugged and moved on down the street.

* * *

Sokka unfurled himself from his undignified position and jumped to his feet, ready to pounce whatever wise guy had grabbed him by the collar and flung him into a dingy, candle-lit store room. He wasn't fazed in the least when the face he confronted turned out to be Han Chinese, male, young, soft and undeniably good-looking. The teenager to whom the face belonged had his hands pressed against the door and eyes peering carefully through a slit in a boarded-up window fitted to the back of the room. It was a face made for punching, in Sokka's eyes.

"You got some nerve jumping on us, buster! But you made one _fatal _mistake! _You kept us alive!_" Sokka challenged with fists raised high, "face me if you're man enough, boy!"

"Ma qi!" the young man implored Sokka to hush in Mandarin Chinese. He waved the soldier's challenge away and concentrated on the alley outside. Aang and Katara got to their feet and regarded the tall boy quizzically, wondering what he was up to. The teenager sighed in relief as the threat outside subsided and turned to face the others with deep brown eyes, continuing to talk in his language, "okay, I don't think he spotted us. Now, I know we've never met and I know it's hard to trust someone who's just dragged you into a locked room in a dark alley, but _what are you doing?_"

"Uh...you go first," Aang spoke in Mandarin to offer, rubbing the back of his neck and keeping Momo from scrabbling his way out of his robe. Sokka fumed while Katara gradually warmed to the boy.

"I knew you weren't from around here. In fact...it's really, really obvious," the pretty-faced boy stated furtively, betraying a deep-seated paranoia, "I'm surprised you got this far without raising any alarms, and you would have done if you stepped out into the street just now."

"That's funny..._some_ of us thought it was a smashingly great idea," Katara crossed her arms, smirked and leaned aside at Sokka, condescendingly.

"Very well, you realise our natural state," Sokka admitted defeat in slightly broken Mandarin before jabbing a finger at the intruder, "but I notice you fly-fish around saying your natural state. You should not think of selling our essence to Japanese marketplace."

The young man squinted at Sokka, mystified, "...pardon me?"

Sokka's head sunk. His Chinese had always been a little rusty, and he was disappointed that his trademark humour and fabulous wit wasn't surviving the language barrier. He rolled his eyes and asked Aang, "translate."

"I...think he's trying to say he's still suspicious about why you haven't told us your name yet," Aang translated, "he suspects...just stressing, his words, not mine...he suspects you might be trying to sell us out to the Japanese."

"No! No! Nothing like that..." the young man countered, "any enemy of the Japanese is a friend of ours. My name is Haru. Haru Pan Yu."

"Nice to meet you!" Katara held up a hand in greeting, "I'm Katara Hakodaya."

"(Hold up! Hold up! We barely know this guy!)" Sokka whispered harshly in Mongolian and shoved his arm across Katara's path, "(and we're sure as heck not on first name terms!)"

"Calm down, Sokka. If he wanted to turn us in to collect some reward, he would have done it by now," Aang responded by mentioning Sokka's name aloud in Mandarin, thereby negating whatever intention Sokka had to maintain secrecy. The monk turned to Haru and smiled, "my name's Aang Anil. Thank you for helping us."

"It's the least I could do," Haru shrugged, "this is the back of my fath-...mother's shop. Whatever it is you're in Hailar for, you can lay low here for now until we can figure something out..."

"Haru!" the sharp voice sent a shock rippling up the group's spines, and they twisted around to see an older woman, greying but still physically fit, opening the store-room door and peering at the smattering of inhabitants with surprise and more than a little nervous anger, "what's going on here!? Who are these people!?"

"It's okay, mother! They're friends!" Haru shoved through the group and defended his decision to the mother, "they're from out of the country, and they were about to walk straight into a patrol. I had to help them!"

"I've told you once, and I've told you a thousand times, Haru. You can't involve yourself in matters that don't concern you," the mother scolded. She sighed and regarded the group wearily, "how do you propose protecting them, anyway?"

"We're only staying until we find a way to travel south. We can hide in the store room until we leave," Aang spoke, "we won't be any trouble, I promise."

"Didn't any of you stop to think that a store room would the _first_ place the Japanese would check if they were after you?" the mother asked, looking over each of them and over Haru in particular, who hung his head in shame. The middle-aged woman continued, "the best way to hide yourselves is in plain sight. You may attract unwanted attention through your strange ways, your unusual manners that give you away as an outsider. But with the right paperwork...passports, identification papers, travel documents...they can't touch you. That should work with the collaborators, at least. They can smell foreigners as easily as Haru here, but they're too gutless to challenge anyone without their Japanese masters backing them up."

"How can we get these documents?" Katara asked, burying a swelling revulsion at the way they were being treated by this woman.

"I can get them for you..." Haru's mother put hands to hips in a concealed challenge, "now...persuade me why I _should_."

"Mother!" Haru appealed desperately. Katara was scowling at the obstinacy of this woman.

"You don't expect us to take care of these complete strangers out of the goodness of our hearts, do you?" the mother challenged her son, "we can barely support ourselves as it is, without burdening ourselves with the troubles of children. We're as good as blacklisted because of your fa..."

Haru's mother stopped herself and breathed in sharply, calming down in process. Katara's combative attitude abated as she realised the impossible position they'd put her in, as well as the subtle wavering of her voice that indicated she was confronting them not out of coldness, but genuine fear for all their sakes. Haru and his mother had both narrowly avoided mentioning his father, in a way that suggested they both badly wanted to. It may be wrong to turn one's back on people in need, but Haru and his mother were as badly in need of help as Aang, Sokka and herself.

"We am brought rolling steed for exchanging..." Sokka offered gently.

Haru's mother cocked her head to one side, "...what are you blathering about?"

"We...uh...brought along a motorcycle," Aang translated nervously, "we were thinking of selling it on the black market to get passage and supplies for our journey south."

Haru's mother looked down, calculating coolly. Eventually she declared, "I know someone who can help you, if you have something to offer." She turned to Haru, "Haru! Go find Volkov and tell him we found something that might interest him."

"_Volkov?_ You can't..." Haru protested.

"Do as I say!" the mother snapped, voice levelling as she addressed the others, "I'll keep an eye on them until you come back, in case they're not who they appear to be."

Haru glared resentfully, but relented, and ran out of the storeroom past his mother and out into the street beyond the shop. Haru's mother watched him go, betraying a small wistfulness. She sighed, and looked up at the others, "you'll have to stay here for the time being. If the shop is raided you can escape out the back, just as you came in. But once you walk out that door our relationship is ended, is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Katara drawled, clutching her satchel as if walking out the door wasn't such a bad idea. The others nodded in agreement to the woman's terms.

Haru's mother turned away to walk out, but stopped halfway out, sagging slightly. She turned her head back to ask, "you must have travelled a long way. Are you hungry? I could fix something up for you."

Katara's clutching fingers relaxed in surprise at the sudden warmness. She remembered her idle thoughts from before and decided to reciprocate, holding up the satchel slightly, "that's okay, we...stocked up on food before we left. There's plenty here."

"Oh...well..." Haru's mother looked away in disappointment. She seemed painfully lonely, "just...just call if you need anything."

The thin woman turned and closed the creaking door behind herself, and the group realised they had been holding their breaths. They all breathed out (even Momo squeaked in relief), thinking over this strange, if productive, turn of events. Despite the snarkiness, they had a lot to be thankful for.

"Qariyal..." Sokka cursed in Mongolian and wiped his sweat off his brow, "why couldn't they speak in Mongolian like normal people? That was way more embarrassing than it needed to be."

"Cheer up, Sokka! At least we found someone to buy the bike!" Aang enthused, and realised that selling off Appa was the last thing that would cheer Sokka up.

"Looks like we'll have to stay in Hailar for a while," Katara considered, finding the prospect oddly appealing for reasons she couldn't fathom, "things are more complicated than we thought they would be."

"Well, hey, we got a place we can rest up and take stock," Aang laid a hand on Sokka's shoulder, "and I _think_ you need some tuition."

* * *

As it turned out, Sokka didn't need much in the way of instruction. His Mandarin had merely become rusty through underuse, and some earnest prodding had been sufficient to dislodge most of his jammed knowledge. Though some matters did require a bit of fleshing out.

"No! You're doing it all wrong!" Aang was facing Sokka, cross-legged, and getting increasingly exasperated, "there is nothing more important in the Chinese language than _tone_. You can't just say it whichever way you feel like and hope for the best!"

"Getel-e-" Sokka interrupted.

"Ah ah ah!" Aang poked a finger upwards to stop Sokka speaking in Mongolian. It was Mandarin or death from this point on. Sokka huffed irritably.

"But we don't have that in Mongolian!" Sokka protested, "what you write, you speak! It's all extremely straightforward."

"Except Mongolian _doesn't_ work that way..." Aang strained, "you might think it does, but that's because you already learnt what the tones meant at an early age. You've never really _listened_ to it and seen how badly it fits. Mongolian was never meant to be written in Cyrillic alphabet. All it does is make a hard language impossible."

"Hey! Don't talk expulsion about my language!" Sokka challenged, to Aang's sudden mirth. Katara chuckled in the back, and as Sokka became suspicious that he said something wrong, his eyes flickered around. Katara was leaning back on sacks of flour and scribbling things into a small diary she kept with her, looking up from writing towards Sokka and cracking up again. Sokka asked combatively "_yaghun!?_"

"I think the word you were looking for was 'smack', Sokka," Katara suggested, returning to her diary writing. Sokka grunted, burying his face in his hands.

"That's what I'm talking about! You might try to call something 'elegant' but one tone out of place and you'll call it a 'duck' instead," Aang informed Sokka in all seriousness before bursting out laughing. It took a while for him to rein himself back in, "aw man, that would be a classic. First date with your girlfriend. She asks you how she looks in her new dress. You take her in your arms, stare into her twinkling eyes and tell her 'my darling, you look like a duck'."

While Aang rolled about with laughter, Sokka was not amused. "I don't think Buddhist monks should know about those kinds of things, somehow," he declared.

"You can be surprised," Aang recovered, smiling broadly while taking Momo out from his robes and holding the creature before himself, "I bet Momo has no trouble attracting girls, don'tcha Momo?"

Sokka briefly pushed himself away from the tiny, tiny animal, but was soon peering derisively in morbid curiosity, "what..._is_ that thing?"

"He's not a thing!" Aang cuddled Momo closely to protect the rodent from the scary man, "he's a Momo. And he's going to be coming with us from now on, aren'tcha little buddy?"

"That rat's not coming anywhere with _me_, that's for certain," Sokka cringed, "it might have rabies or...leukaemia or something."

"Momo is a Mongolian Gerbil," Aang petted his new friend fiercely, "_gerbil_. As in, not a rat."

"It might be a gerbil in the literal biological sense of the word, but in _my_ outfit..." Sokka paused for emphasis, "...it's a rat."

"Please, Sokka, lay off him. It's not like a titchy little rodent is gonna kill us in our sleep. Let Aang do what he likes," Katara confronted her brother in defence of the monk, "and besides...I think it's really cute, what he's doing."

Aang's cheeks erupted into loud and noisy blushing. He stammered while looking away from Katara, "well...I...I wouldn't know about that."

Sokka arched an eyebrow and grinned at Aang's response, while Katara absent-mindedly returned to her diary. The soldier nudged the boy in the ribs and spoke with light-hearted sarcasm, "I'm surprised you know so much about girls, my good monk."

Aang stabbed Sokka with his eyes. His hands wiggled, however, as Momo began a fresh bout of squeaking. Aang drew the gerbil up and peered into its two beady eyes, trying to decipher them, "what's the matter, buddy?"

The store room door burst open and Aang hurriedly hid Momo as sunlight burst into the tiny dust-filled space. Their eyes hurt from the brightness, but as they became accustomed they could see a tall, broad, assured figure standing in the doorway. The figure, as contrast returned to their vision, turned out to be a man in uniform. An officer's uniform. An officer of the Manchukuo Imperial Army.

Sokka leapt to his feet in panic. "They found us! Quick! Hide!" the Mongolian soldier screamed, throwing himself behind a stack of cardboard boxes. The officer let out a thin, cruel chuckle, sending shivers up Aang's and Katara's terrified spines as they drew back in fright. But Haru's mother stepped past the officer and held her hands forward to calm them.

"No! It's okay! You're safe! Really!" the woman spoke urgently as Haru drew up behind her, "this man is Milo Volkov, and you can trust him. He's here to help you."

"That's a half-truth and you know it..." Haru muttered sullenly, his back turned to the newcomer.

"Haru!" the woman scolded the boy, laughing fearfully as she turned hurriedly to Bao, "he didn't mean that, kind sir. The boy's young and impetuous. I'll make sure he doesn't treat you this way in the future."

"Naw, it's alright, miss," Volkov chuckled heartily, with a sinister edge. The broad man landed a sizeable hand on Haru's shoulder, rocking it a bit too fiercely for comfort, "that's what I like about you, kid. You got conviction and a heart...unlike me."

The officer rolled back his head and let loose a laugh that could have brought down the ceiling beams. Despite being an officer, Volkov had several glittering rings on his fingers and long tufts of white hair reaching down to his shoulders that were blatantly not regulation. Despite speaking Mandarin, he was obviously not ethnically Chinese. His wide chin, granite features and light, if weathered, skin marked him out as distinctly Caucasian, and his name sounded distinctly Russian. What he was doing pretending to collaborate with the Japanese was anyone's guess, but they hadn't time to figure out why as his mood suddenly turned. From back-slapping jollity he snapped into snarling humourlessness like someone had flicked off a light-switch. Volkov spat, "now, someone tells me you miserable guttersnipes have some wheels to sell me."

As quickly as Sokka had leapt away to avoid Volkov's attention, he leapt back into the light, standing straight up with hands clasped together and a diplomatic smile, reeling off by heart, "why, yes, my good knife-edge!" The Mongolian had meant to say 'man', and Aang cringed internally as he and Katara stood up. Still, the monk considered, at least he didn't call Volkov a 'mulberry fruit' or 'pregnant'. Sokka continued, "we have many top-of-the-range products in _excellent_ condition that can be yours today an an easily affordable pri-"

"Spare me the sales pitch, squirt," Volkov sneered, "just show me the goods."

Sokka nodded silently and led the way out of the store room. Katara's resentment towards the broad, vicious man was obvious and apparent, an automatic reaction to him and people like him. But Aang regarded the two-faced, rude, condescending and abusive officer with the cool eye of a boy with a keen sense and a moral compass...and knew from cold calculation that no good could come from him.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Cornwall's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there. It saps the life out of you, being somewhere so..._docile_. Anyway, that's my laughable 'excuse' right there for taking so long to update with just one measly chapter. And I've got a bunged up nose to top it all off.

Anyway, this is something of a filler chapter, that still manages to 'introduce' _tons _of characters from the show in one form or another. From Mongolian Gerbil Momo, through shy teenager Haru and his worry-wart mother, the pirate captain as a 'captain' of an entirely different sort, and even the good old Cabbage Man. There's also a lot of language-related humour in this that I felt worth a chortle. I wanted the siblings' knowledge of Mandarin to be more than a plot device to keep things rolling, so even if it slows the story up I think it's a believable and funny diversion that's brought forth a nice character exchange.

The newest episode of Avatar (which _rawked_, in my professional opinion) is inspiring me to do a one-shot at some point, so that'll probably be my next thing if I get around to it this week (it's a busy week ahead). In the mean-time, I hope this chapter pleases.

And...serious moment here...

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the fearless monks and citizens of Burma, for standing up for what was right, and even though they knew they were standing into a hail of bullets, they stood anyway, because it was the right thing to do. May we aspire to have even a fraction of the courage the Burmese people have.


	13. Pt 2 Ch 3: Wolf's Lair

Volkov turned out to be an interesting character, with a fascinating back story that he generously bequeathed to the group as they walked briskly to the edge of Hailar. Aang had met the type before...he had the manner of a con man in private, talking in confidence about how squarely he'd stitched up a vast number of people, except he was so confident in his scam that he felt no need to hide it. As refreshing as the honesty was, it was also rather disturbing that he felt so secure, wearing the uniform of a collaborator and helping the enemies of those he collaborated with. It meant that he was unaccountable. And it made him an extremely dangerous ally.

That said, the hold that he held over the town was impressive. The group walked down streets they had given a wide berth on the way in, straight past Manchukuo soldiers in broad daylight. The soldiers either avoided him, saluted him, or were otherwise too pre-occupied with trying to look pre-occupied to respond to him. The few that stopped to ask what he was doing escorting a couple of armed Mongolians weren't even given an explanation. A sharp stare-down was usually sufficient. The man seemed to have only two moods...cocky and dangerous, and he veered sharply between the two moods with no warning whatsoever. Along the way, Volkov explained how a Russian like him came to be a commander in a Japanese puppet army.

"Back in the day, I was bayoneting Jerry on the other side of the world, in the service of the almighty and eternal Tsar," Volkov spoke conversationally, "I was damn good at it, too. We all were, in the Transbaikal Cossacks. We were the elite, the cream of the crop, and we knew we were to boot. The Tsar had been mighty good to us Cossacks. Then one day, out of the blue, we weren't in the service of the almighty and eternal Tsar anymore. We were in the service of the frankly weedy and utterly provisional Provisional Government. Didn't quite have the same ring to us Cossacks. And Kerensky had obviously reached the same conclusion since not a month before the last offensive 'gainst the Germans, we were shunted off to the depths of Siberia. 'Politically unreliable', they thought us to be. Bit them on the ass in the end though. As it turned out, when the offensive fudged up and the whole state collapsed, the only 'politically reliable' people they had left when Lenin came knocking were a bunch of women soldiers."

Volkov thought this anecdote utterly hilarious and it took a few gunged-up roads before he calmed back down enough to continue. By now they were walking over rail crossings at the northern end of Hailar, near the edge of town, and the officer still had a pile of conversation in him, "if they'd just let us have a crack at the Bolsheviks, we woulda gladly smashed their heads 'gainst the wall just like we did in 1905. Instead, with no government left, we had to take matters into our own hands. I don't think I ever had more fun than I did during the Civil War. Back then, we didn't only get away with burning down villages, it was downright military policy! Couldn't trust the peasants no more. They hated the Bolsheviks like all country folk did, but they hated _us_ even more! Preferred flea-bitten rogues with axes to grind like the SRs. Lost respect for their social betters. We _taught_ them to respect us again."

Volkov caught the horrified glimpses from his followers, all too terrified to object openly. This only seemed to encourage him, "we had support from all sorts for what we did. From the British, the Americans, the French, the Japanese. 'specially the Japanese, as a matter of fact. They thought they could persuade us to set up a puppet state for them in Siberia. We indulged their little fantasy while we were fighting. We could've just taken it back afterwards. Easy. But the Great War ended and everyone lost interest in us White Russians. Too busy complaining about their knees getting scraped while Mother Russia bled to death."

"Hang on! _Millions_ died in the Great War! That's why it's called _'the Great War'_!" Katara interrupted Volkov's spiel to object, "that's a bit more than _scraped knees_, you know..."

Katara stopped as she realised Volkov had paused and stood sternly in front of her, peering at her with a squinted eye and a look of sneering disdain, "...I can't help but notice I have in my hands the life of a peasant who's lost her respect for her social betters."

"(Quiet, Momo!)" Aang whispered to his pet underneath the neck of his jacket collar, who was getting jumpy at the tense and volatile Volkov. He gave off vibes that even gerbils could pick up.

"You were telling us about the world abandoning you, sir?" Sokka butted in to save his sister's hide, smiling disarmingly. Haru had placed a hand on Katara's shoulder, and when she turned to look she saw that he was focused very grimly in Volkov's direction. It was a strange moment for Katara. She felt mysteriously safer, even though she knew that in all likelihood he was just going to get himself killed along with her.

Aang caught the gesture in the corner of her eye, but matters resolved themselves before he could linger over it.

Volkov held his squint for a heart-stoppingly long time, then burst out laughing out of nowhere, turning away to continue walking, looking aside at Sokka, "looks like I was a bit premature! Yeah, no one thought there was any money in helping us rid Russia of the Bolshies. Even the Japanese had to face the music eventually, when the Red Army came a-knocking. We were all that was left of the White Russians, backed into a corner with nowhere to go. But the Baron refused to give up."

"The Baron?" Aang asked out of curiosity.

"Baron Ungern von Sternberg!" Volkov triumphantly announced, Katara and Sokka both visually shuddering at the reference, like the officer had said something horrendously obscene, "he was our leader, and a visionary too. Fearless, clever, and determined to bring order and purity to the world. He was also as mad as a swarm of flying armadillos, but beside the point...he was invited into Mongolia by the last Khan, since some uppity Chinese felt like it belonged to them. We tricked the Chinese into fleeing by setting up tons of camp fires around the capital to convince them we had many times the numbers we had. Then the Baron made Mongolia his own. You Mongolians can fill in the blanks for the youngster, can't you?"

They could as well. The Mad Baron was before their time, but their parents and others around them back in Usutai had filled in the terrible details. Gran-Gran had used him as a way of scaring the kids to sleep. Being called 'mad' was a term of endearment until you heard of the Mad Baron. His bare chest covered in charms, his delusions of being the reincarnation of Genghis Khan, his army of thugs burning, looting and pillaging whenever it took their fancy. He was an inhuman monster. When the Red Army followed the Baron into Mongolia, his own soldiers handed him over to be put up against a tree and shot. Compared to him, Choibalsan was a picture of decency and sanity. And Volkov _admired_ this man.

"When Trotsky came in hot pursuit," Volkov continued, "we scattered to the high winds. Most of us ended up here in Manchuria, back when you could call it 'Manchuria' without being pistol-whipped by...well..._me_." The officer chortled viciously, "we did our own things for a while, offering our services to the odd warlord or ten, or otherwise just hunkering down and getting on with our lives. That changed when the Japanese arrived. They couldn't trust the natives, y'see, so they employed us instead. Made us official Manchukuo citizens. I took an oath to Pu Yi and got a passport and everything. They knew we remembered how they helped us, so they decided we were trustworthy enough to put into positions of authority."

"Except...you're not?" Sokka advanced cautiously. Volkov glared back and looked as though he was about to have yet another violent mood swing, but instead he laughed heartily and patted Sokka on the back so fiercely the Mongolian felt his lungs had been punctured.

"Can't dispute that now, can I!?" Volkov grinned, though his mood noticeably darkened, "the Japanese thought we'd be grateful. Grateful! They tried to dismember Mother Russia and played us like puppets to make it happen, and they expect us to be _grateful_!? I may string up Communists on sight, but I'm still a patriot." The officer looked aside, "I used to work for a good man named Zhang Zuolin. The Old Marshal, they called him. A warlord who used to rule this whole region. Reminded me of the Baron, in some ways. Except a whole thousand magnitudes saner. He knew the importance of a strong hand, a constant image of authority. You know what the Japanese did for him? They weaseled into his confidence, and then when he started doing things they didn't like, they tricked him into boarding a train from Beijing, waited until it passed over a bridge and blew the whole thing up. _That_ is how the Japanese repay gratitude."

"And that's why you're helping the resistance?" Sokka asked a little more confidently this time around. He soon found that confidence a trifle premature as Volkov turned and burnt a fierce scowl into his face. The man didn't explode with fury. He wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of person to fume, slowly and deliberately, not so much displaying anger as informing the person he was mad at that he was, in no uncertain terms, very, very angry and well within his power to indulge that anger with carefully thought-out action should he step a millimetre out of line. That put Sokka in the unenvious position of knowing that there was as little as a small inflection in his voice away from undisputed doom.

"Let me make this clear. I don't help no resistance, and Saint Mary help me if I should ever meet any man that do," Volkov fumed, "no filthy uppity peasants are going to string up their social betters under _my_ watch. If there's anything I hate more than the Japanese, it's Communists. Now, Stalin I can respect. He knows about the importance of authority, alright, and he helps the Kuomintang. Man after my own heart at times. But the Communists here? Death's too good for the lot of them. Dirty, filthy, disgusting pond scum. I see a Communist, I'll make damn sure I'm the last person he ever sees._You're_ not Communist, are you?"

Sokka shook his head automatically. It was a relatively white lie, since he never took full membership of the Party, but it was an uncomfortable close encounter with certain death. Aang was having a hard time keeping up with all the names and the complex webs of allegiances he didn't know nearly enough about this time. The Mongolian dared to ask one more question, "so...who _do_ you work for?"

"I work for me, myself, and I," Volkov maintained that fuming gaze, "who do _you_ work for?"

Sokka found the question uncomfortable, and thought hard for an answer that would satisfy the man. But upon engaging his thought processes, the answer struck as both surprising and obvious, "actually...I don't think I work for anyone, either."

There was that same moment of unbearable tension as Volkov looked like he was weighing up whether it was worth keeping the boy alive. The officer continued to scowl until he suddenly made up his mind and gripped Sokka in an arm-crushing hug around his shoulders, "y'know what!? You remind me of myself!"

"Th...thanks..." Sokka grinned nervously at what seemed like a complement, even as he sincerely wished more than anything in the whole world that he had nothing in common with this beast.

Volkov had talked away most of the journey, and it was only a short scrabble up the side of the valley before they came across the copse where their stash was hidden. Sokka made the transition from near-hostage to salesman surprisingly easily, as he explained in impressive detail the technical prowess of the motorcycle. Aang and Katara were too frightened of Volkov's mood swings to do much except keep their distance. Much of Aang's attention was keeping Momo from squeaking incessantly at the Cossack from beneath his robe, worrying that the rodent might cause offence. Haru remained sullen throughout the meeting with Volkov. By the end of the spiel, Volkov kept nodding slowly in thought.

"You sound very passionate about this machine," the Cossack considered. He eventually stopped nodding and smiled, "I know someone in Beijing who'd be interested in merchandise like this. It's a nice piece of kit! It'll just about cover the cost of passports and travel documents for the three of you."

"Just about!?" Sokka haggled incredulously, "come on! It's a_beautiful_ method of transport! It's gotta be worth some cash on the side!"

"You're in no position to haggle, sonny jim," Volkov's grin became meaner, "you'll get the documents, but you're gonna need something extra if you want some_money _for this transaction."

"Okay!" Sokka conceded, reaching down to pick up the used, slightly battered, but still functioning device they'd stolen from the Japanese, "well, you're in luck because we _do_ have something extra! How's about this Watchamacallit Thingymajigger? Makes weird buzzing sounds. Fun for all the family."

"Why would I want that?" the officer asked, clearly perplexed, "there's a radio shop in town that might be interested, but I don't go in for that newfangled buzzing nonsense."

"Oh..." Sokka retreated, disappointed. He reached down for the last item he had to hock, "well...in that case...can't go far wrong with good old-fashioned firepower."

The militiaman handed the rifle over to the Cossack, who began almost immediately to check out its condition and its integrity. Volkov handled it like it was his own. Peering down the barrel, the officer spoke distractedly, "I don't think I have to tell you this is going to be a hard sell."

"It's old but it's reliable," Sokka shrugged, "good addition to any arsenal. Can test it yourself, if you like."

"I don't think I need to..." Volkov regarded the gun suspiciously, "I can remember firing many a rifle like this back in the day. It's sturdy, no-nonsense...a bit shorter than I remember it, but apart from some improvements it's pretty much identical with the rifle I carried with me all through the Civil War. And I _was_ carrying a rifle like this in my days in the Russian Army because this just so happens to be a _Russian Army standard service rifle_. This the only one you got?"

Sokka nodded informatively to Volkov's question. He was starting to wonder what the officer was implying with all this, as his expression was hard to read. He may have been simply curious or he might have had something else in mind. The Cossack leaned down to put the rifle to one side, muttering "good."

Volkov moved with surprising swiftness, sliding across to the back of Katara and trapping her with his arm. A pistol was shoved against her right cheek before anyone had even seen him draw. Katara stifled a gasp and tensed shakingly, looking down at the barrel of the gun out of the corner of her eye. The others, surprised and shocked at the sudden turn, began to rush forward but stopped abruptly when they realised the danger Katara was in. Volkov's chalk-solid face peered professionally from eyeball to eyeball, making certain that none of them so much as thought of picking up the discarded rifle. The Cossack spoke with grit in his voice, "now I don't know who you are, but there's some damned funny business going on around here. You three show up with a motorcycle just when I receive orders to look out for 'three Mongolian bandits on a motorcycle', but strike me down if you don't seem the banditry type. Spies don't carry around their own countries' service weapon, I'd know in advance whether you were Kuomintang, and no self-respecting Communist would walk within a hundred miles of me. No one sneaks into a war zone for the hell of it, so in order to allay my suspicions you'd better explain, in painstaking detail, _what _you're doing here, _why _you're doing it, and _why _I don't just shoot you all right now and mark up my quota for the Japanese?"

"_Let her go!_" Aang demanded. Haru laid a hand on his shoulder and drew him back before he did something rash. Aang saw that Haru's teeth were gritted. Sokka was too terrified to be angry. Volkov responded to Aang's demand by pushing the barrel of his pistol even further into Katara's face, making her wince.

"The Buddhist monk_demands_! Now ain't that something," Volkov was unaffected by the trouble he was causing, "you know the Baron was into that kind of stuff? It didn't save him from the bullet and I doubt it's gonna save her, either. And I can't help but notice that you didn't really answer my question..."

"We're taking him to Tibet!" a nervous teenage voice blurted out. All eyes turned to Sokka, his fingers twitching uncontrollably, as he explained, "he...uh...we're...we're taking him to Tibet. See the monasteries. I was in the militia and had some connections and...and we needed to get out of Mongolia since they're cracking down on monks like him and we heard Manchukuo was a good place for monks so we thought we'd come through here. That's...that's alright, right?"

Volkov pondered as Katara's teeth chattered and her breath surged rapidly. His finger remained firmly pressed on the pistol's trigger, "so you came here on some kind of pilgrimage trek?"

"Uh huh!" Sokka nodded harshly.

Volkov paused, considered, and finally shrugged, taking the gun away from Katara's face and pushing her forward, "okay. No skin off my bones." Volkov smiled as he put the gun away, treating the whole incident as if it never happened. He never dared apologise, "and you're right about monks being treated right around these parts. Shintoism's the official religion around here, but most everyone is pretty much Buddhist. The Japanese like to encourage it to shore up their legitimacy. Damned funny religion if you ask me, but then who am I to talk? My mama raised me a good Orthodox Christian and I spent the best years of my life burning villages down."

Volkov laughed his head off, but after that display of cruel indifference to their lives not one of them joined in. Katara retreated, rubbing her bruised cheek and staring maliciously, behind Aang to stand next to Haru. It was another thing Aang noticed out of the corner of his eye that bugged him, but Volkov intervened with more conversation, picking Sokka's rifle back up, "well kids, I like you, so I'll get your travel documents ready and I'll draw up a firearms licence for soldier boy here on the side. No man should be without his rifle."

The officer threw the rifle over and nearly knocked down Sokka with the strength and suddenness of the throw. He took a few moments to recover and asked the Cossack, "unf...so...when should they be ready?"

"Tomorrow," Volkov informed them, "no need to organise a meeting or anything. Believe me, I'll know where you are. If you need a place to lie low then you could do worse than ask this _kindly_ young man here." The Cossack waved a hand in Haru's direction. Haru didn't return the affection. Volkov continued, "I'd say you got off pretty lucky so far. There was a time when you could get away with all kinds of things up here, but for the last few months this district's been under the command of a real vicious upstart called Colonel Zhao Kokami. He got a mean streak a mile wide and side burns that could cut through steel girders. He's taken a whole front-line combat division up with him to recover, resupply and use the locals for target practice. I've had to work overtime rounding people up for him, and if you were anyone else I probably would have turned you all in too. Guy's gotta make a living, you understand. But I never handed over nobody who didn't have it coming, so it all works out in the end!"

"I'm glad your work makes you happy..." Katara's voice dripped with venom. Volkov looked over and chuckled heartily.

"Like I said, I like you kids," the Cossack waved at the group to follow him back towards town, "come on. I'll send some men to pick up your bike. Might want to take that Wachamacallit Thingymajigger with you, mind. You don't need to worry about Manchukuo soldiers in this town no more. I'll see to it that you're untouchable. But let me give you this piece of small advice._Stay away from the Japanese_..."

* * *

It was an immense relief to get away from Volkov once they were back in Haru's place. They found being in the man's good books to be more uncomfortable than being hated by him. It made them feel..._dirty_. Sokka appealed to their practicality and they collectively decided to play along...for now. Once they got their passports, they'd leave and never come back. But in the mean-time, they needed funds to buy tickets. Haru offered to guide them to the radio shop Volkov mentioned. Aang felt like objecting for some reason. He was having a hard time figuring out why he felt that way.

They walked down thickly-clogged streets covered with layers of grime. There were slops of dried mud from heavy rains the week previous, and the air was filled with the cries of market sellers, the rumble of cart wheels and the smell of chemicals and cookery. The sky, becoming increasingly overcast since the day began, was mixed with fumes of smoke and steam, but also the steam of soup kitchens and home chimneys. It was an undisputedly industrial place, but the effects of city life had yet to rub off on the local population. It was a rural market town role-playing as an urban manufacturing centre and transportation railhead. The Japanese had spread their influence and their commercial interests, but the people still thought in terms of crop rotations and annual harvests. The Japanese occupation hadn't sapped the feeling of liveliness from the place. But it pinned it down around the edges, through small signs like posters at the edges of streets telling people to be vigilant, pamphlets extolling the virtues of the 'Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere', and the lowered conversations whenever a Manchukuo collaborator walked past. The group found they didn't need to worry about them, despite Sokka wearing his rifle. Some even smiled and nodded in greeting.

The shop wasn't far from Haru's, being just down a small adjunct to the main street, like the town was too ashamed to keep it in plain sight. It was a miniscule place many times too small for the material that was in it. The shelves were haphazardly fixed and stacked thickly up the sides of the shop, spilling over with grey devices of all kinds, walling the customers into a narrow corridor inside which only a small orange light from a ceiling lightbulb could penetrate. This was a shop for small bands of enthusiasts, not for regular Chinese folk. This wasn't surprising considering the rural mentality of the locals, and the intrinsic newness of the science of electronics. It was probably the only radio shop for hundreds of miles, its existence dependent on the South Manchurian Railway. Aang was mystified by every small thing, finding every opportunity to poke them and see what they did, flinching in shock whenever they bleeped back. The shop was run by a surprisingly aged fellow with an unnatural talent at squinting suspiciously at things. He had the manner of a crabbity fishmonger rather than an electronics expert.

"Can't you read the sign!?" the man complained. Upon looking ahead to see what he was talking about, they saw above the man's head was hung a large cardboard sign on which was written crudely in Mandarin 'The Merchandise Does Not Come From Outer Space. Stop Gawking.' Everyone clammed up and obeyed the sign...except Aang. He continued to wander in a dream-like state amongst the weird devices, these impossible things. What did they run on? What did they _do_? What was their purpose? So many questions...

"Hi there...I was wondering..." Sokka tried to address the man, holding up the Thingymajigger. The shopkeeper was busy fiddling with a piece of equipment transmitting varieties of white noise until the shop filled with the crackly sounds of saxophones, piano, cellos, drums and the siren sound of an English-speaking woman hopping along to the beat. Sokka's face lit up at the music, only to collapse like a house being demolished when the shopkeeper twisted his screwdriver slightly and brought on another burst of white noise. The Mongolian forgot himself for a moment and rushed forward to cling to the counter, pleading "hey! What're you doing!? Put it back!"

"That noise ain't welcome in this shop, son," the radio shop owner snapped back, his pitch and tone carrying a pronounced twang to the end of every syllable, "I'm trying to find the official government station. Word is the Emperor is going to address the nation soon."

"Emperor...Pu Yi? The puppet ruler?" Katara stepped up to ask, "why would you want to listen to him?"

The shopkeeper paused to squint at Katara. The nurse felt obliged to step back a little. It was a very impressive squint. The old man confronted, "call me _funny_, but when our leader wants to speak to his countrymen, I'd rather his countrymen pay attention. If the government could at least figure out how radios _work_."

The man thwacked the radio harshly, and continued screwing around with it until he realised a bald-headed boy was staring at it with hungry, amazed eyes. There may possibly have been drool. The shopkeeper was rather put off by this, and slammed the screwdriver down to gain the boys' attention, "can I help you, kid?"

"Ha...haaoowww...ha...how d...da...how does it...how does it do the...the...things it do?" Aang pointed at the device and its habit of making noise. A short silence passed as the old man weighed up the 12 year old monk.

"I take it you've never seen a _radio_ before?" the shopkeeper asked. Aang's head lingered staring at the device, then lazily looked up with wide eyes at the old man, shaking his head slowly. The man rolled his eyes impatiently, then seemed to smile, continuing, "well, to put it as straightforwardly as I can, the thing you're looking at is a _'radio receiver'_. That is, it receives radio signals that are transmitted from a radio station somewhere in the area, or relayed over longer distances. Radio signals are electro-magnetic waves, like visible light, infra-red or ultra-violet, except at such a high frequency that they can't be seen by the naked eye. We can encode signals on these waves and send them over huge distances, carrying anything from the voice of our wondrous ruler to the disgusting racket your friend seems to like so much..."

"_Jazz is not a racket!_" Sokka challenged the old man, crossing his arms and making himself look superior to the shopkeeper, "it is an emotional outlet for the human reservoir. And you just memorised that stuff from a pamphlet, didn't you?"

"So? Still impresses everyone who asks," the old man squinted again, causing Sokka to step back, "and I think you meant 'soul', not 'reservoir'. You're not really Mandarin, are you?"

"Neither are you," Aang noticed the inflections in the man's voice and smiled, "you're Manchu. I could tell by the accent. Nice to meet you!"

"So that's why you love Emperor Pu Yi so much..." Katara twigged, "he's Manchu, same as you."

"Don't see why that's so unusual. We are in the 'Land of the Manchus', after all," the man beamed proudly.

"But almost everyone we saw in the street out there was Han Chinese..." Sokka pointed out.

"It's our homeland! This land that was the birthplace of countless Chinese Emperors, which the Japanese have generously given back to its rightful owners," the man countered.

They all looked around at the tiny shop. The man didn't seem to be the rightful owner of much of anything. Sokka raised an eyebrow and queried, "do you _really_ believe that?"

"Watch your tongue, young man! Remember whose business standing in! No one can insult the owner of Gangyi's Wireless Stop and expect a warm reception!" Gangyi squinted hard at Sokka before sagging under the weight of his own ridiculousness, "a man can dream, can't he?"

"Never mind, forget I said anything..." Sokka waved away the conversation topic and placed the Thingymajigger on the counter wearily, "we were just wondering what you'd give for this?"

Gangyi was sufficiently interested to switch off the radio and put on a pair of spectacles to inspect the device closely. After some initial prodding with his trusty screwdriver he gave a tentative verdict, "I wouldn't put your hopes up. Whatever it is, it's been through the wringer and back."

"It's...had some wear and tear, but the insides are still all functioning," Sokka sold.

"No secret to getting insides to function. Getting them to function _right_ is the hard bit," Gangyi quickly unscrewed the back and carefully prized it open, "besides, it just looks like your common or garden wave detector. I could build one of these in my lunch-time. I fail to see what could possibly be special about..."

Gangyi's breath left him as he took his first look inside.

"Okay...now I do..." the old man murmured, "where did you get this?"

"It's a...long story," Sokka stated diplomatically.

"This belongs in a science lab in London or Berlin, not Inner Mongolia," Gangyi fished a couple of instruments out from under discarded piles of blueprints and crocodile-clipped wires from them to the Thingymajigger. He let out a whistle when he saw the thing's output, "it _is_ a wave detector, but it's designed to pick up parts of the electromagnetic spectrum I never even knew existed. The frequency is incredibly high. Stupidly high, I'd say."

"Hold up, wait a second..." Katara began to intrude on this conversation, putting her hands on the counter to face Gangyi close, "are you saying that whatever that thing's picking up...is...'scientifically explainable'?"

Gangyi raised an eyebrow at Katara, "...everything is 'scientifically explainable'."

"Yeah..._Katara_," Sokka mocked his sister. The Mongolian nurse was not terribly amused by this.

Aang intervened before things got too tense, stepping forward and asking carefully, "so...this thing picks up invisible waves that fly through the air, right?"

"In the same way visible light and ultra-violet are 'invisible waves', sure," Gangyi shrugged, "but I'm no physicist. I can't even begin to guess what this thing is supposed to detect. Chances are it's meant to pick up something extremely radioactive, something so powerful that it couldn't exist on Earth. It would be no more than an insignificant afterglow from the early days of the universe. You'd have to dip this into the sun's core to get so much as a whiff of it."

"Can you be sure of that?" Sokka asked, getting interested in all the technical details.

"One way to check..." Gangyi declared, twisting a switch atop the Thingymajigger and setting off its musical cascade of whirring and buzzing. The old man took the receiver and waved it around, noticing that pretty much every direction he pointed in produced the same storm of howls and snaps, "see? It's nothing but background noise. My non-functioning radio would be more useful in picking up stu-"

The old man stopped when the direction-finder rested in a certain direction. The signal had changed to something more high-pitched and regular, a source of whatever radiation signature the Thingymajigger was tuned for. Looking up, he saw that the direction happened to have the bald-headed boy standing in it. The boy looked back with a 'who? me?' face. The old man waved the finder from side-to-side and consistently found that the signal was almost certainly coming from him. Gangyi asked, "hey, kid? Could you...stand to the left a bit?" Aang, a little confused, obliged, and the signal went down accordingly, only to reappear when the finder was pointed at him again. Gangyi focused on Aang and wondered, "you don't carry anything on you, do you? A neutron star? Large quantities of plutonium? Anything like that?"

"Uhh..." Aang looked momentarily lost, then fished Momo out of his jacket pocket with a flourish, "I got a Mongolian Gerbil! Does that help?"

Gangyi nonchalantly aimed the direction finder at the rodent, then back at Aang. The signal remained stubbornly fixed on the boy. The old man focused on Aang and sighed when he switched the device off, "no. Not really."

"So...uh...I guess it's pretty valuable, then?" Sokka advanced cautiously.

"It's more than valuable, it's downright fishy," Gangyi peered at the thing, poking it experimentally, "it looks like some kind of amateur hack-job, but the principles beneath it must have come from a mind well-acquainted with the writings of some very smart, very Jewish people. It's got Tokyo written all over it."

"Why do you say that?" Katara asked. Aang put Momo back in his pocket and paid attention to as many details as he could absorb. Haru had been listening in cautiously.

"Because, to be honest...see this place around you?" the old man held his arms apart to showcase his Wireless Stop, and the group's eyeballs followed dutifully, "this shop wouldn't _exist_ if it weren't for the Japanese. They're the only ones around who'd have access to this kind of technology. My business _depends_ on the Kwantung Army. The Russians would keep this stuff under lock and key, and the Chinese would think it's_possessed_ or something. I don't honestly care who you got this off of, but I'd be shocked if whoever it was weren't Japanese."

"Er...sharp eye," Sokka evaded, still looking around the store. Something abruptly crossed his mind, "wait a minute. You sound like you're _happy_ the Japanese invaded your country."

The old man's moustache twitched uncomfortably, and he leant forward to wave a contrarian finger in front of Sokka's face, "now listen here, boy. You're listening to a man who's bent over more rice paddies than he can count. I grew sick of it _twenty years_ before I was in a position to open this shop. Manchuria was a rural backwater until the Japanese came along. They've brought money, machinery, stability, _and_ they've given me the chance to indulge my passion. Couldn't say that about the Old Marshal. He started off pretty well, you know. Reforming the currency, inviting investment, all that stuff. But he threw it all away on some hare-brained crusade to become the next leader of China. The moment the Japanese blew up his train was the best thing that ever happened to this country. Only then we got his short-fused rabble-rouser of a son, the 'Young Marshal', stirring things up, throwing his lot in with Chiang Kai-Shek's thugs and making life miserable for the rest of us. Now? The Japanese have finally brought sanity and civilisation with them! No more egotistical uppity warlords forgetting about ruling properly! Now Manchuria's in the hands of _professionals_!"

The shop bell jingled suddenly, and they all looked up to see Katara marching assertively out the door and slamming it violently behind herself. She'd heard enough about the wonders of the Japanese. She didn't want to hear about their benefits, their investment opportunities, their stability or their professionalism. They were murderers. They peddled poison, not gifts, and this shop with its machines and fanciful devices was just one of their poisons. She couldn't stand the sight of it anymore.

"Katara! Wait!" Aang called out, rushing to follow her out only to pause halfway down the narrow shop. Haru had been closer to the door and had run out after her first. The hesitation slowed him down like he was wading in glue. He shook it off and continued running, out the shop and into the street.

Sokka remained at the counter, watching them leave with fearful surprise. This wasn't part of the game plan. Ah well, he thought. Better that they weren't around anyway. He turned back and smiled at Gangyi, "so! Lot of ruckus over nothing, huh? Let's get back to the machine you're resting your arm on. Shall we talk offers?"

"Don't get too ahead of yerself, boy. I may look encrusted but I know my electronics," Gangyi put the Thingymajigger to one side and Sokka's fleeing companions out of his mind, "it ain't often that I come across this kinda thing, so I'll be generous and give you 50 Yuan fer it."

"...is that a lot?" Sokka questioned uncertainly. He hadn't time to consult exchange rates before leaving Mongolia. The old man's fearsome squint returned as he wondered what rock this kid had emerged from, but rapidly put on a large fake smile and fished some funds from under the counter.

"Yes!" he lied, thrusting the money into Sokka's hands and pulling the Thingymajigger close, "pleasure doing business with ya!"

Sokka thumbed through the paper notes and quietly pocketed them. It was enough for now. And the guy's manner was not encouraging him to stick around. He made his farewells and fled after the rest of the group.

Gangyi's smile faded, and he wiped his brow in exhaustion. He didn't deal with customers if he could avoid it, and tended to rely on special orders from a select band of dedicated amateur radio operators. But it had been unavoidable in this case. Sighing heavily, he put the device under the counter and trundled over to one of the dozens of transmitters on the shelves, bringing his face close to talk clearly, "didja get all that? Over?"

* * *

"Loud and clear. Much better reception than last time. Over and out," Volkov switched the receiver off and finished jotting down the notes for the conversation from his desk in the small and crumbling Manchukuo Army and Police headquarters. It was a badly-funded operation in the collaborationist forces, which often led to criminality on the side to accord oneself a measure of luxury. Volkov had the funds to afford himself an intact wall and a desk without woodworm, but as an old Cossack he saw virtue in deprivation. He was more than satisfied with simple power for its own sake. Not ostentatious authority, but the power to do things like listen into a radio shop by threatening to arrest him for stocking contraband equipment. It was a simple use of simple power. An immensely satisfying exercise.

Volkov didn't trust newfangled things, but that didn't stop him using them when he thought they might come in handy. It was a radio with immensely short range, which was very useful for keeping under the watchful gaze of his Japanese paymasters. This was something that had to interest his _other_ paymasters. He memorised all the details as he expertly rolled a cigarette, sticking it in his mouth as he fished for a box of matches. Striking a matchstick light, he burnt the notes and left them to cinder on his desk while he lit his cigarette and stepped out of the office and down the rickety corridor to an outside staircase, overlooking a busy main road. Life buzzed around beneath the steel he stood upon, and while the customers and cart sellers did well to avoid his gaze, he knew he could count on their obedience while he held his position of straightforward, concrete power.

A boy packing bananas paused in his work and shuffled over beneath the staircase, looking like he was taking a breather. Lighting a cigarette and walking outside was the signal. Volkov leaned to one side to make himself better heard. The boy asked, "message for the Chief?"

"You don't know the half of it..." Volkov took a long, luxurious puff of his cigarette, breathing out a slow plume of nicotine smoke, "tell the Chief...I got information on a gang of newcomers he might find interesting..."

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is a re-upload, since someone pointed out Volkov's dialogue needed proofing. So anyway...sorry it's late...been working 9-5 in London...exhausting but I managed to get something written...enjoy the read...etc. etc. etc. 


	14. Pt 2 Ch 4: Cross Road Blues

Aang found Katara behind Haru's shop, huddled in a small, relatively dry, and rubbish-free corner of the dark alleyway. In the gradually clouding sky, Katara's cubby hole was hardly darker or danker than the street, but it _was_ quieter. Haru was already approaching Katara when Aang rounded the corner, and the boy monk had just enough time to dart back around without being seen. He peered cautiously around its edge, gently quieting Momo in his hands, and watched Haru sit down a short distance down the wall from Katara. The Chinese teenager looked sympathetically at the Mongolian nurse, who had her head sunk deeply into her arms. She looked up as he sat down, wiped a tear from her eye, and smiled.

"I'm sorry. I'm being silly," Katara admitted, shrugging to herself, "I'm just drawing attention to myself, aren't I?"

"It looks like you need it," Haru offered, smiling back. He didn't elaborate, leaving Katara to say whatever she needed to say. The appropriateness of it infuriated Aang to no end, but he kept silent.

Katara's mood changed with small gusts of wind. She looked ashamed, then proud, then depressed, then angry, and eventually seemed to settle on an amused wistfulness, "a year. I had a year to come to terms with this thing. I thought I was doing pretty well. Now look at me. In the space of twenty-four hours I've been held prisoner, made an outlaw from my own home, ambushed an armed convoy, gone into foreign lands further than I've ever been before clinging onto the back of a motorcycle, and to top it off some borderline psycho just shoved a gun in my face and then made himself my best friend in the whole wide world. And the _one thing_ that's rattled me? An old guy talking about how great the Japanese are." Katara gripped her own shoulders tightly. Her knuckles had gone white. She relaxed, "a whole year. One old man's opinion and I'm that little girl peeking out the window again."

"...window?" Haru asked innocently. Katara laughed at herself pitifully.

"It doesn't matter, I should stop being so hung up about it," the Mongolian's eyes fell, "it's just words."

"Nothing's just words, if it means something to you," Haru consoled. Aang scowled. Was that the best he could do? Aang felt he needn't have worried about Haru's therapeutic skills at first, but the monk realised he'd thought too soon when Haru expanded on what he meant. "My father was pretty big on the power of words," he explained, "used to tell me all the time that the right words in the right place could change the world."

"He sounds like a good man..." Katara offered her own opinion. Haru had avoided mentioning his father before, and the Mongolian was deeply interested in finding out more. But she didn't feel she could ask straight out. They remained silent for a long time, searching for a way to fill the conversation. Haru grew serious as he decided he couldn't hide the issue any more.

"My father was captured by the Japanese, two years ago, trying to spread around anti-Occupation pamphlets. I never saw him again," he hemmed in resentment, but it was apparent that his blood was boiling.

Katara realised that her problems paled in comparison to his, and extended a hand to touch his shoulder, "I'm so sorry..."

"My mother keeps telling me to keep my head down and do as I'm told, to make sure I don't end up the same way," Haru closed his eyes and placed his fingers against his face, sighing angrily, "I hate it. Every second of it. I'm in as much of a prison as he is, and if he's dead then I might as well be too for all the good I'm doing. What's the point of words if we can't_do_ anything with them?"

"Don't be too hard on your mother," Katara found herself saying, "she's only trying to protect you. She's there for you, that's the important thing."

"I know..." Haru realised, "...I know the consequences if we get into trouble. My mother's already lost her husband. I can't let her lose her son too. It's all mother can do to keep us together. With father as a known trouble-maker, the rest of the family is closely watched by the Kempeitai. One step out of line..._wham_. They might take her too for good measure... "

"Who's the Kempeitai?" Katara asked.

"The Kwantung Army's military police. Every Japanese army has a Kempeitai shadowing them. They show off the collaborators, but the Kempeitai are the ones who really run things in 'Manchukuo'," Haru explained, "the regular soldiers take care of things outside the cities while the Kempeitai take care of things _inside_. They don't show themselves much, but there's usually one in the post office, one in the train station, a couple in the police station to make sure everyone's in line...some wear plain clothes and disappear into the crowd. There are only a few of them, but everyone thinks they're everywhere. When you want to travel, they're the ones you talk to. When you want to get a job, they're the ones who give it to you. When someone knocks on your door in the middle of the night, they're the ones who take you away. Volkov has the local police wrapped around his stinking little pinky, but he can't do anything about the Kempeitai. Best to do what the murderer says and stay clear of them. Every family's missing at least one member. No one ever knows where they're taken, and they're too scared to ask."

"That's awful..." Katara remarked, having never felt that level of sheer paranoia even in Choibalsan's Mongolia.

"It's what we have to live with," Haru shrugged ineffectually, "I know the risks of getting into trouble. I'm just tired of hiding."

Katara returned to her funk when she realised she was tired of hiding too, "I've only been here a day and I'm sick of it already. How can people just sit back and let the Japanese walk all over them? How can people be _grateful_ for that!? It's sick!"

Katara was fuming angrily, giving full vent to those feelings she had earlier tried to swat away, and to her surprise found that Haru was smiling at her. Aang risked a peek and saw much the same thing, which produced a distinct, strange sinking feeling in his stomach. What was he doing? The monk shook off those thoughts and listened harder, promising to meditate extra hard to burn off his blackening karma, while Haru revealed, "you know, you sound like my dad."

"I...I do?" Katara blushed.

"He was always so passionate about things. It felt like...he wanted to change the world, and if no one else would help him, he'd do it himself," Haru let off a light chuckle, "he always needed to do what was right, no matter the cost."

"I'm...I'm not so sure I...really live up to that description," Katara laughed away the compliment, "my dad though, he does have this need to do the right thing. He's got this honour code that's been passed down our people for centuries. You remember the Battle of Khalkin Gol?"

"This town was the major supply point for that. Loads of soldiers passed through here on their way to the front," Haru reminisced, "sure, I remember it."

"Our village was right in the middle of it," Katara looked ahead at the other side of the alley as she told the story, "_I_ was right in the middle of it."

Aang's jealousy melted away as he listened. Katara had never really explained fully what happened back then, only that there was a big battle, the Russians won, and her mother died. She'd never so much as hinted that she was _right there_ at the time. From the way Sokka had referred to it, he'd guessed that she had fled the battlefield with the other villagers and returned once the battle was over. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realised he was treading on sacred memories, but he couldn't bring himself to stop listening.

"I don't even know why they started fighting. I think I heard about it once, but it sounded so petty...a small village that both sides thought was theirs. I think they were just looking for an excuse to puff up and show each other who the boss was," Katara spoke with a level tone, keeping things as factual and distant as she could manage, "they lined up on the river and took pot shots at each other, but one day the Japanese made an attack around the side of the Russians, through our home. Dad and all the other older men had signed up with the Army to help the Russians, so there wasn't anyone to protect us. Most of us packed up and fled, but a few of us were too sick to move. The troops heading to the front had come from faraway places, and some passed through our village and brought the measles with them. So..."

Katara looked like she was about to say something further, but the statement seemed to die in her throat. Haru didn't dare say anything to interrupt, so she took a moment to recollect her thoughts and speed to the point, "the Japanese came through our village and pretty much held us hostage for a couple of days. But then the Russians came to drive them out, and Dad was with them. The Japanese were completely hammered. They'd never dare attack Mongolia again. Since they helped to free our home, Dad and the other men in our village were honour-bound to give their services to the Russians. He goes all over the place, helping out where they need him."

"That sounds really brave of him," Haru smiled, "I'd be proud to have someone like him as a father."

"Yeah..." Katara said out of politeness. She looked away to keep Haru from seeing the bitterness in her expression.

"So what about your mother? What's she like?" Haru asked, seemingly oblivious to the loud and obvious hints scattered throughout the conversation. Aang felt just about ready to throttle him, but the monk calmed himself, remembering his vows, and tried to show some respect for memories of the dead. Katara said nothing, shaming the thoughts of both of them into silence. The moment held too much gravity to be fought over.

"She was...kind. And strong. And beautiful. And I thought she knew everything..." Katara spoke of her mother, "she'd learnt medicine in Ulan Bator, and been all over Asia, and she'd given it all up to live in the tiny place she grew up in. She cared for us. She protected us. I was bed-ridden with measles when the rest had been evacuated. Me and a few others. So she stayed behind to take care of us. The Japanese came through and she hid us. But they started knocking down places. Mama guessed they were making sure there weren't any soldiers hiding. She was scared they were going to bring our house down on top of us, so she told us to stay put and she walked out. I didn't do what she told me. I sneaked up and peered...out the window."

She stopped. There was no visual sign of distress. She simply stopped talking and looked at the cracks in the wall on the other side of the alley. Haru filled the silence, "sorry, I...I didn't mean to..."

"You know the funny thing? It didn't turn out...how these things are supposed to turn out, you know?" Katara turned and smiled, but it was a no more than a mask, "I must have listened to too many of Gran-Gran's tales. The heroes and fair maidens...they're faced with death and they're either grim and determined and heroic, or crying and begging for mercy. But it wasn't like that at all. She just walked out there and...asked. Asked politely. She didn't raise her voice, she didn't plead, she didn't demand, she just...asked. It went on for a while, between her and this officer. But one of the soldiers saw something and got spooked. Everyone got nervous, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. The officer, he took out his gun...that was another funny thing. Someone points a gun at you, you're supposed to duck, right? Or put your hands up or fling away or fling at the one holding a gun...I don't know, something. She didn't do any of that. She just looked at it, like it was a toy or some knick-knack she'd come across. Just this thing. This small thing..."

Katara stopped again, but didn't allow Haru an opportunity to stall the next part, "the soldiers ran to our place. They must've thought our soldiers were in it. I ran from the window. I was halfway to the hiding place when the door burst open. It was so bright my eyes hurt. It didn't seem real. I stood there and looked up...there was a hole in the dust, you see. All the dust was bright and yellow and swirling but there was this hole in it...and the officer was in the hole. We looked at each other. His face was all dark, and that was the only thing I could tell about him. He didn't seem angry, or happy, or anything. There was something about him, though. It wasn't in his face. It just felt...sad, I guess. I don't know, I didn't know what I was feeling. All the anger, sadness, crying and screaming, that came later but I didn't know what to feel, then. It felt like he was feeling it for me. He called the others off and left. I can remember every little detail before that, but I can't honestly remember how long I stood there. Could have been minutes, could have been days. I didn't feel like I was there. I didn't hide. I didn't cry. I didn't do anything. I just saw this big, hazy light in front of me. Millions and millions of tiny specks floating in the light..."

She trailed off,ot so much stopping as ceasing. There was plenty more to talk about...indeed, there was too much to talk about,hich was why she stopped. There was just too much to say in simple everyday language, andhe couldn't explain what was inexplicable. Haru wisely kept silent, and Aang...it was like he could see that dusty light. It reminded him of Usutai, that beam of floating dust sparkling as it burst into the room he first woke up in. Every speck was unique, but the light was eternal.

Katara abruptly killed the mood by looking down the alley and raising an eyebrow, stating sardonically, "that whole spiel would've been perfect if it weren't for that infernal squeaking sound..."

Aang squealed a little himself and shunted down the building away from the alleyway, bringing Momo out of his jacket and petting furiously. He'd been so enraptured in Katara's tale that he had neglected to keep Momo silent for the last few minutes, and he shushed the rodent gently to quieten it down. Around the corner, Aang heard Haru making light of the noise. The Chinese teenager joked, "no, it's wonderful! You told it so beautifully even the rats stopped to pay attention."

Katara giggled a short, pleasant giggle, as much to relieve the tension as finding Haru's quip genuinely funny. Aang's petting became slower as he realised the significance of that giggle, and fell back against the crumbling wall, sighing deeply. He realised in that moment that he never had a chance. The streets clattered with carts and trucks, and town life passed by, but Aang just leaned against the wall, petted Momo solemnly, and wallowed in his own misery.

"Aang!" Sokka popped up out of nowhere and startled the monk, "I've been looking all over! Anyway, I _think_...emphasis,_think_...I got a good deal on the thingymajigger and why do you look like I interrupted you in the middle of murdering someone?" The militiaman peered with his head tilted sideways at Aang, who realised he was cowering under Sokka's gaze but had not the integrity to right himself quickly enough to keep Sokka from jumping to conclusions. The Mongolian peered around Aang into the alleyway, seeing Haru sitting with Katara and drew his own conclusions, smiling deviously as he did so.

"_Oooooooooh..._" Sokka realised, "lovestruck little boy feeling a bit heartbroken, is he?"

"Hey!" Aang retorted, glancing with paranoia to the alleyway where the two teenagers were still talking and stepping a little away, lowering his voice, "I'm telling you right now, on my vows as a monk, I do _not_ think those types of thoughts. And besides...Katara isn't that kind of person."

"Nonsense...on...stilts, my little Bodhisatta," Sokka laid his arm around Aang's shoulders, pulled the monk close and smiled in the manner of a man 'in the know', "the moment you stop thinking about the fairer sex is the moment you stop being a _man_, in my estimation. Something tells me you need the fine education in the ways of love only _I_ can provide."

"Uh, Sokka..." Aang pried himself away from Sokka's iron grip, "even if I were interested in girls..._which I'm not_...I've been all over Asia, and you've been...where have you been?"

"I'll have you know I am a regular traveller to my district's capital," Sokka looked at his fingernails with a haughty air about him, "and very well-acquainted with the seedy underbelly therein."

"Uh huh..." Aang thought as much, "no offence meant, but if anything I've got more experience with girls than you do. And I ain't got much."

"No amount of experience is going to do you a lick of good, my man," Sokka laid his arm around Aang's shoulders again, squeezing hard to register his annoyance. The Mongolian prodded the Tibetan searchingly, "because...let's face it...you're small, you got no confidence, you have terrible dress sense and...and this is the real kicker here...you're _bald_. Now there isn't anything wrong with being bald _per se_. As a matter of fact on a suitably aged gentleman it can look quite dignified, and on someone with lots of muscle it looks really badass. But the thing is...you're twelve. Twelve-year-olds don't shave their heads unless they were in a fire or get cancer or something. A normal, healthy, not-unattractive twelve-year-old with no hair on his head? It just looks _weird_. Chicks don't dig _weird_ unless you have something really major to make up for it. Now, stopping time can be pretty major, or it can just make you look even_weirder_, it's really hit-or-miss on the spooky supernatural front."

"On the _other _hand," Sokka peered around the corner at Katara and Haru momentarily, while Aang was feeling too incredulous to interrupt, "this Haru character ticks a good few more boxes in the chick-appeal survey. He's older, better-groomed, has built up this air of mystique...girls really love that...and more than that he has a very fine crop of well-kept, flowing, shiny dark hair. If he were to waft it from side to side, you would see_sparkles_. In the battle between you and him for the hearts of women, the odds are so stacked against you it's not even funny..."

Aang opened his mouth to argue that Sokka was horrendously mistaken, but instead he merely crossed his arms and huffed, looking away with a firmly fixed scowl. No matter how hard Aang denied it, the Mongolian would never back down, and the monk had to admit there was a small amount of truth in it. It was distressing how obvious his affections were, and he could hardly deny them with a straight face. How could he help it? She was the first girl she saw after 50 years of null-time...if there was such a thing. Aang closed his eyes in consideration, "so...what? Are you going to tell me the super-secret key to dating that _only you_ know?"

"A convincing sob story!" Sokka smiled as he gleefully, knowingly ignored Aang's sarcastic tone, "if dashing good looks aren't your thing, then go for the pity vote. Trust me, it works like a charm."

"So you've tried it before, then?" Aang asked sceptically. Sokka paused, putting his next sentence into as careful an order as he could make it.

"It _will_work like a charm when I meet a woman my ag- look, I don't need to do it, I'm handsome enough. I'm just helping _you_, here..." the Mongolian back-pedalled and returned to his gripping-shoulder stance, "now, this would work best if you had some really painful thing you're hiding. Got anything like that?"

"No!" Aang lied assertively. It wasn't something Sokka needed to hear, "...no, I...I don't have anything like that."

"Figures..." Sokka nodded sympathetically, "now, Katara? She's an absolute _pushover_ when it comes to sob stories. Give her something halfway traumatising and she'll go out of her way to make you feel better. It's one of the wonderful things about her, but between you and me it can get a bit..._annoying_. It's just ripe for abuse, if you ask me. I mean, take Haru, fer instance. He's got that whole sob story about his dad...man, could he have _been_ more obvious? It's practically bullet-proof. Use something like that, you're practically guaranteed to get some loving, and further-"

Sokka stopped, his jovial helpfulness popping like an old lightbulb. His voice rose from its previous half-whisper as he realised, "wait a cotton-picking minute, _that guy's moving on my__sister!_" The outraged militiaman took the rifle off his back and walked threateningly into the alleyway. Haru's and Katara's conversation ceased and both their faces fell with fright at the sight of a furious, protective older brother wielding a rifle and snarling with anger at the two of them. A rumble from the grey skies above seemed to accompany this outburst, and Aang followed behind to pre-empt any potentially fatal sibling spat. Sokka yelled, "_hey!_ You with the smooth locks!" The Mongolian held the rifle in one hand around the breech and pointed the barrel at Haru for emphasis while the two teenagers sprang to their feet. Sokka looked like he was calming down, but it was a false impression. His humour was barbed sharply, "thank you very much for providing room and board. I greatly appreciate it and hope we aren't being too obtrusive. You're a good friend and a valuable ally. But if you so much as _look_ at my sister again, you'd better have the best excuse _ever_ or I'm gonna make sure you can't look at anything straight ever again."

"We were just talking! We were just talking!" Haru waved his hands disarmingly, visibly sweating and apologising profusely.

"Don't apologise!" Katara interrupted, standing in front of Haru and scowling at Sokka and his jabbing rifle barrel, "even if we _were_doing whatever sick, perverted things your twisted imagination thought we were doing, it's none of your damn business!"

"I'm _making_ it my business, wench!" Sokka lowered the rifle to stand closer to Katara and challenge her scowl with an even fiercer scowl. Aang ran up and stuck his arms between the brother and sister.

"Guys! Guys! Stop it! This isn't helping!" the peacemaker appealed, "I mean, think about it! What _are_ you two arguing about? _I_ don't get it, and anyone paying attention to us isn't gonna be any less confused!"

"Why don't you ask _him_what we're arguing about?" Katara confronted, "he's in serious need of a cold shower."

"Hey, hey, _I'm_ the one who says who needs a cold shower around here, missy," Sokka crossed his arms assertively, "and no one ain't _ever_ gonna tell me otherwise. So what do you say to that? What can_anyone_...or_anything_...say to me to convince me otherwise?"

A mighty boom cracked the sky open and almost instantaneously a heavy downpour descended, like something had turned on the sink. It was mere seconds before the ground of the alleyway was a muddy, slick-covered mess. As the argument was still going on, no one dared dart under cover. They stood and awaited the dispute's conclusion, although the intervention from above seemed to settle things fairly conclusively. If there was such a thing as karma, it obviously wasn't on Sokka's side. Katara smiled and raised an eyebrow as water dribbled through her hair. Sokka just smouldered.

"_This...proves...nothing..._" Sokka groaned bitterly, but his position had descended into such depths of ridicule that Aang keeled over laughing. It was infectious enough that Katara joined in, covering her mouth to keep the incessant giggling in. Haru smirked in victory, an expression that Sokka caught and glowered at irritably. There was an increasing tempo of splashing footsteps and rumbling wheels as the townspeople rushed indoors and made desperate attempts to protect their merchandise, and the ground beneath everyone's feet became oily and splattered with clay-dirt. It looked like a fairly heavy storm was brewing. Beside them, the store room door opened and Haru's mother popped her head out, rubbing her right temple to soothe the splitting headache the kids were inflicting on her.

"If you wanted to bring the Japanese down on us, there are easier ways of doing so," she commented, looking sharply at all of them before softening and standing to one side, "come inside. It's getting late. I'll fix something up for you."

They all readily agreed. They hadn't noticed the time passing, but it had been a busy day.

* * *

The rain was a distant, muffled drumbeat, occasionally clattering the windows with thunder, but the ornate room had little contact with the outside world. A useful metaphor for its former owners, Iroh thought, and he wondered whether it applied to its current occupants as well, but he didn't like to ponder larger questions on an empty stomach, so he gratefully ate the meal provided him by his host. Zuko wasn't hungry; a fact that didn't surprise Zhao in the least. Zuko sat in his ruffled, unkempt uniform and sported ruffled, unkempt hair on his cap-less head. Zhao's well-fitted, ironed uniform went with his tidy, business-like haircut. Zuko's and Zhao's officers' caps lay near their respective places on the long, empty cafeteria table. Zuko's Nambu pistol lay next to his cap., while a long, slender, curved sword lay in its sheath next to Zhao's.

The dining room was built in an obviously western style. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the walls were panelled and swirls of gold ringed around inside them, the floor was carpeted and decorated with flowery, garish patterns, and the tables were covered with white cloth. It probably once belonged to some prominent Chinese landlord, built in the early 1920s when the warlord fiefdom of Manchuria enjoyed a modicum of comparative wealth and stability. It wasn't to last, and Zuko noticed some decorative concessions to the nation that came to settle the chaos once and for all. The table was high off the ground, in typical western style, and in a corner a suit of ceremonial samurai armour stood watch, ominously asserting its presence over the room. It was enough to put Iroh off his meal. Colonel Zhao Kokami picked up his glass of sake and offered a toast, another peculiarly western gesture.

It was uncanny, Zuko thought. They were in the heart of China and yet nothing about their surroundings was even noticeably Chinese. Major Zuko Hinaga met Zhao's offer with a clink of glasses.

"To the Empire of the Rising Sun, Major Hinaga," Zhao sipped. Zuko offered no response, and simply sipped his own drink uncomfortably. He didn't even like sake. Zhao felt in a gloating mood...as was fast becoming his default these days, "once our force is resupplied, we'll plough into the Chinese positions while their backs are turned. Their base of operations will be wide open to attack, and the Chinese resistance will finally crumble into dust."

"That's strange, I remember you saying the same thing last year," Zuko observed, swirling his sake around in his glass, "...and the year before that."

"I wasn't in command, back then," Zhao caught the tone of Zuko's disagreement, and scorned the young upstart, "but how about you? Has two years of exile made you a stronger, prouder, more fulfilled young man?"

"I will feel fulfilled when I get home," Zuko blurted out. He mentally cursed himself straight after, as he realised he'd just handed Zhao fresh ammunition to taunt him with.

"Pah! We'd never have gotten anywhere in China with that kind of attitude," Zhao took another swig of his drink.

"We're not getting anywhere in China now," Zuko glared pointedly at Zhao. The Colonel simply sniggered.

"Spoken like a true Toseiha," Zhao taunted, leaning over to Iroh, who was busy tucking into his food, "the boy takes after your worst habits, General."

"Oh, I don't like to talk politics these days," Iroh smiled and waved from down the table, "I prefer to keep my opinions on finer topics, like the quality of wine or the exquisiteness of a good meal." The old man took a bite of his meal and savoured it deliciously, swallowing before speaking, "you have to tell me who your cook is. This is _fantastic_food..."

"Still, your nephew does talk like someone who measures success in piffling,_zaibatsu_-determined benchmarks such as 'resources' or 'economic opportunities'," Zhao pointed out, "resources to power and enrich our empire are concrete objectives to fight _for_, but they're not _why_we fight, young man."

"I'm listening, Zhao," Zuko snapped impatiently.

"We fight because it is the act of _fighting_that makes us strong," Zhao expounded his philosophy, rising from the table to give himself room to express, "to wage war is the noblest of all pursuits, the battle itself reason enough to fight, more than any material thing the battle is being fought to possess. It is the mettle against which civilisation is tested."

"Why should bloodshed and slaughter be sought for its own sake?" Zuko questioned.

"Because civilisation degenerates whenever it is absent. The weak are allowed to fester while the strong are never given the opportunity to achieve greatness. A civilisation only reaches its true potential when it succeeds in surviving against all others," Zhao explained, walking behind Zuko's back in a clear indication of assumed superiority, "now, for the first time, the world is in a position to engage in a terminal struggle that will finally settle which nation is the strongest."

"I fail to see how bleeding ourselves white in the grind of warfare_strengthens_us," Zuko slammed his glass on the table and turned to face Zhao, "we seek to bring the sunlight of Japanese civilisation to the darkest corners of Asia. How are we supposed to do that over a pile of corpses?"

"The spirit of a nation can't be spread by words like some _faith_. It is spread by _blood_. The spirit of Amaterasu, and the Chrysanthemum Emperor who brings that spirit to earth, can only inhabit the hearts of true Japanese, run through the purest of Japanese veins," Colonel Kokami paused before the suit of samurai armour, his chest swelled with pride, "we cannot bring our spirit to the barbarians. It is biologically impossible. But at the same time we cannot simply allow them to fester, and threaten to snuff our spirit out for good. Their sheer numbers mean we cannot ever be rid of them...but we _can_ make them learn their place."

"And this is where your vaunted 'great battle for civilisation' comes in, then?" Zuko leant forward and poured what remained of his sake into Iroh's half-empty glass while the elder gentlemen in the room were more pre-occupied by their own efforts.

"There is an order to nations. A natural hierarchy. It is only in conflict that this hierarchy can announce itself. The only certain way to determine a nation's superiority is in a competition of survival, where the degenerates of each competing race are weeded out and only the strong remain. Where only those of the purest blood and noblest spirit are left standing, and the race that is purest and noblest of all takes its rightful position as leader of the world," Zhao addressed the suit of armour with a certain amount of uncertainty whether he was talking about Japan or himself, "during the Great War, the nations began to engage in such a struggle...but they got cold feet. They chickened out. The degenerates riled up the masses and stopped the struggle dead before it could reach fruition."

"And by 'degenerates' you mean...Jews?" Zuko asked sceptically, sensing where the conversation was leading.

"That's what the Germans say. I'm rather doubtful, personally," Zhao held a hand in the air and wandered away from the suit of armour dismissively, "a race that's had every imaginable tragedy thrown at it for thousands of years and yet still retain an almost magical ability to turn every setback to its advantage has got to be fairly high up in the natural hierarchical stakes. In fact, since the Germans wanted rid of them so badly, a few of us in Kwantung Army Command asked if they'd like to send some of their Jews our way." The Colonel, evidently comfortable with the subject matter, waved his glass of sake towards Zuko conversationally, "this was before the War in Europe, obviously. The plan was to establish a Jewish settlement north of here, make use of their skills for the benefit of Manchukuo. You know of the famous Jewish talent for making money, they would have done wonders for the economy." Zhao took a swig of sake and then glared irritably into middle distance, "never got any word back."

"So, if you're not blaming Jews, then who _are_you blaming for ending the Great War?" Zuko raised a brow. He'd heard similar tirades before, but there was something different about this one. A subtle change of opinion that he couldn't quite put his finger on, like someone had fed new ideas into his head since the last time they'd had this conversation.

"No need to blame others for a nation's own failings," Zhao turned back to Zuko fully, "the Russians, Germany's allies, and finally the Germans themselves, simply suffered from a collective loss of _will_. They had a golden opportunity to purge themselves of their weakest elements and create a new world order of the strong and pure. They'd never witnessed such an opportunity before. And it's precisely_because _they'd never been in that position before that they were terrified of the possibilities. They ran from the implications of their own acts. The degenerates had a full century to entrench themselves in the decadent societies of the west. The Great War disrupted this, but no more than that. It did do the nations the favour of finally revealing those sections of society in which degenerates resided, but they still felt unduly _attached_to these weaker elements. The prospect of losing them was what led to the loss of will among the nations. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, we can see that this was a mistake. The Great War demonstrated conclusively that degenerates need to be identified and expunged _before_the struggle can begin. And this is exactly what we have been doing."

"What does this have to do with invading China?" Zuko was garnering the impression that Zhao was more concerned with sounding impressive than actually making sense. The Colonel passed behind Zuko's chair and politely (to Zuko's chagrin) poured more sake from a bottle into the Major's empty glass.

"If you'd care not to _interrupt_, I'll tell you," Zhao smiled a thin, calculated smile at Zuko, thumping the bottle back onto the table, "the 'Incident' with the Chinese is a useful experimental testing ground for the heart and spirit of the Japanese race. The results have been most encouraging thus far. For every year the Incident continues, Japan is strengthened. Once the second Great War gets fully underway...and every moment the War in Europe expands the closer that moment comes...we will be in the unique position of being at our spiritually purest. And this is precisely because we are honing our race in the white heat of warfare. We purge ourselves of the weak in manageable, incremental portions, in a way only war provides."

Iroh had stopped eating to let his temper subside. He remained silent, but Zhao's words struck an uncomfortable nerve.

"Yeah...that makes perfect sense..." Zuko sipped at the sake and rolled his eyes. He needed a stiff drink after that pile of nonsense, even though he winced and screwed his eyes shut after the rush of alcohol entered his brain. He placed the glass far away from his person and continued, "except we're 'honing' ourselves by trying to subdue a country ten times our size. How is that productive?"

"Because for every one of us they kill, we kill twenty of them," Zhao stood some distance away from Zuko and let his glass breathe for a while, taking manageable sips of alcohol, "by my reckoning that's a 2:1 ratio in our favour. It goes to show our superiority to the Chinese as a race that they're fit only as experimentation tools. You've heard all the criticisms of the Jews? That they're decadent, corrupt, weak-minded, weak-willed, and fit only for slave labour? Pretty strong words for a people who haven't had their own country for centuries. But the Chinese? They fit that description to a tee. They've had a state for over two millennia, and grew fat and lazy and stupid. They're the poster child for the degeneration constant peace brings. They've come to the stage where even ruling their own state is too hard for them. Once we arrive, they beg at our feet for the civilisation we bring. Of course, they don't deserve it. We're doing them a favour by reducing them to servitude. It's their genetic destiny. Where once they were simply slaves being led by other slaves, now they are led by true masters."

"And yet after all this time, we're nowhere near close to winning," Zuko retrieved his sake and took another sip. As disgusting as it tasted, he still found himself coming back to it, which was a little unnerving. The Major continued, "makes you think. We've driven these 'degenerates' out of their major cities and divided their forces, and yet they continue to resist us. Perhaps they're not so 'degenerate' as you think."

Zhao became silent, his carefully cultivated philosophy running into something of a roadblock. Not that it was exclusively his, but he had prided himself on successfully shoe-horning scientific eugenics into why he was so great. But Zuko did have a point...the 'Incident' wasn't progressing entirely according to schedule. So, when faced with counter-evidence, Zhao naturally picked the coward's way out...the ad hominem attack. Colonel Kokami stood completely still as he challenged the teenage officer, "exactly who is 'us' in this arrangement, Major?"

Zuko paused with the sake halfway to his lips. The pause allowed him to regain his senses and place the alcohol far away again. He was a bit at sea in this conversation and he preferably needed to be sober to keep up, "I don't follow?"

"You're mentioning 'our' successes, 'our' failures, 'we' drive them out, they continue to resist 'us'..." Zhao recounted Zuko's side of the conversation, "bear in mind that you are not part of the Kwantung Army, Major Hinaga. We tolerate your presence on account of your assignment from Imperial General Headquarters, but considering you are officially barred from ever setting foot on the home islands until you complete your assignment, it would be a severe stretch of the imagination to consider yourself 'one of us'."

Zuko's muscles tensed. Iroh stopped eating entirely, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable. The air between them dropped by several degrees. Zhao had dramatically ratcheted up the underlying tension in the meeting and brought issues to the fore. But while Zhao was still couching his words carefully, Zuko held no such patience with such stage-management. He turned bodily in his seat towards Zhao, staring coldly and fixatedly, "are you questioning my loyalty?"

"Your father settled that issue two years ago," Zhao smirked, pleased at the reaction he was getting, "I'm questioning whether you still count as Japanese."

Zuko's chair hit the floor as the Major rose firmly to his feet, fists and lips clenched in unbridled fury. Iroh stood up as well and walked carefully behind his nephew, appealing, "Zuko. Please show restraint."

"You take after your uncle's worst habits yet again," Zhao taunted, never budging from his position, "it is a fair question, you realise. A true son of Amaterasu would have challenged me in a far more impressive manner than simply staring at me and hoping I melt somehow. Except...you can't, can you?"

Zhao walked casually over to his seat and picked up his sword, admiring the polish. He intentionally looked away from Zuko, which angered the boy even more. The Colonel explained, "I don't suppose I have to educate you on the bond between a Samurai and his weapon? We in the military are the inheritors of that tradition, the vessels of our race's soul. It is in our weapon that we contain that soul." Zhao unsheathed the curved sword and saw his eyes reflected back at him. The sword was meticulously clean, and it seemed obvious the commander had spent far too much time polishing it up. Zhao spoke at the sword, "a weapon must be kept sharp and ready to be used at a moment's notice. It must be given exquisite care and attention, and above all it must eventually be tested in battle. As we hone our swords, so we hone ourselves. A connection with one's own sword is a connection with everything that makes one a warrior...and everything that makes one Japanese."

Zhao chuckled, and slid the sword back into its sheath. He turned and smiled cruelly at Zuko, pointing out, "however, instead of a sword, you carry around a base, crude weapon like your pistol there. That means you must know, somewhere in that muscle-headed brain of yours, that you're not really Japanese. You're rootless, orphaned and pathetic in body _and_ in soul."

"Zuko..." Iroh placed a hand on Zuko's shoulder to calm the furious young man. It was all Zuko could do to stop himself picking up that base, crude weapon of his and shooting Zhao between the eyes.

"You were banished from Japan until you could discover a hopeless fairy tale and bring it back to your father," Zhao raised his glass as if to toast the fact, "that's as good as saying 'leave and never come back', you realise? You must have realised this or otherwise you wouldn't be acting like an outlaw with a band of trouble-makers."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Zuko snapped, his anger finally boiling over, "I have a mission from Headquarters! From my father! I am doing my duty as a soldier _and_ a son!"

"A mission from Headquarters sealed with a scar on your face. That doesn't strike me as regulation, child," Zhao sipped nonchalantly from his glass, "your 'mission' is a farce, and you know it. The sooner you face up to the fact that you'll never see your country again, the happier you'll be."

"You're wrong!" Zuko flared, sake well-forgotten and little in his mind except pride and fluster, "my mission is vital to the future of our nation, and I _will_ see it again!"

Zhao looked up from his glass, "do you mean to imply that the Qoghusula...the reincarnation of the Vairocana Buddha, one with the Void and all time and space.._.isn't _a hopeless fairy-tale?"

Zuko began to draw breath, but stopped. Still smouldering with fury, he picked up his chair, sat back down and became completely still. Zhao smiled. It was exactly the gesture he was looking for.

"So you found something," Zhao concluded, moving closer to Zuko's seat until he had his hands on the chair's back, "you know you found something, _I_ know you found something, so instead of going back and forth insulting each other, why not skip all that and get down to business?"

"I'm afraid you must be confused," Zuko stated simply, staring forward. He muttered no other word.

"Seems to me that I'm thinking far more clearly than you, Major," Zhao leaned forward, "if you were serious earlier about your duty to family and country, then tell me...where is the Qoghusula?"

Zuko remained silent, showing as little emotion as he could. After a prolonged, suspenseful silence, he picked up his cap and pistol and moved away from the table, turning his back to the commanding officer, "I need to go."

"It's early evening and there's a torrential downpour outside," Zhao commented, calling to Zuko's back, "what could you possibly need to do at this time of day that's so urgent?"

Zuko stopped, turned around, and glared at Zhao with his scarred eye for effect, stressing his next word tersely, "..._things_."

Zuko left it at that and continued walking. Zhao smiled after him, allowing him to leave in good humour. Iroh walked backwards and shrugged apologetically at his host, smiling disarmingly, "sorry, don't mind him. Long journey. You know how it is. Thank you again for the delicious meal and the_marvellous_ sake. We'll be sure to visit again sometime!"

Iroh bowed and ran out after his nephew. Zhao let them both leave without a word. He had everything he needed. Just so long as he was flustered. The more flustered he was, the more mistakes he would make. The Qoghusula was a major prize that he was not going to pass up.

He picked up his cap and his sword, and walked out the dining room in the opposite direction, hands clasped behind his back in a confident and haughty manner. He walked down one of the wide corridors of the mansion, lined with faux-Rembrandt paintings of various family members (some he stopped to admire. Whoever made them was a good artist. Zhao made a note of finding out who the painter was so he might get himself painted). The wooden floor was bare of carpet, but was kept reasonably well-varnished for the soldiers' use. He walked down and placed a hand on the handle of a wooden panelled door that led into what used to be a pantry, now converted into a filing room..

The room was dark and claustrophobic compared to the rest of the mansion's brightness and spaciousness. A ceiling fan had been installed to help ventilate the room, which did no favours to its oppressive atmosphere. Rows of filing cabinets and bookcases filled with binders were jammed into the room's tiny dimensions, somehow leaving room for a desk in the centre. Documents were scattered across it, and a lamp set up on the table was the room's only source of illumination. Zhao pulled back a fold-out chair and sat down opposite one of the two men seated at the desk, a scrawny man wearing a pair of spectacles whose nervousness stood in sharp contrast to Zhao's swagger. The Colonel clasped his hands together and laid them on the table, asking confidently, "so the Qoghusula is a twelve-year-old boy with the power to stop time accompanied by two Mongolian teenagers, currently at large somewhere in Manchukuo. Am I right?"

"I'll do you one better. I was quite the artist in my university days..." Gakki revealed excitedly, opening up his equipment bag and producing three pencil portraits, placing them on the desk. They were excellent renditions of Aang, Sokka, and Katara. Gakki was noticeably shaky, but an underlying anger propelled him forward, "now, I don't care what happens to the boy. The girl...she can be dealt with however you see fit. But _this_ man..." The engineer prodded the picture of Sokka urgently, his short-sighted eyes narrowed into slits as he focused on the Colonel, "I want his _head_ roasted on a _spit_, understand?"

"Are all people from Headquarters this demanding, sir?" the soldier accompanying Gakki, a lifelong Kwantung Army man with a thick moustache who sat at the side with a foot propped idly on the edge of the table, questioned his superior with a raised eyebrow. Zhao laughed it off.

"General Hinaga has a way with choosing his men. Zuko should have thought twice before betraying one of them," Zhao commented, picking up the drawings and handing them to the soldier, "have these copied and sent across all command posts. The boy is wanted alive. The others are to be dealt with by lethal force, if necessary."

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

Author's Note: Rather long chapter this fortnight. We're finally back to Zuko and Iroh with a delicious confrontation with Zhao and some explanation into Zuko's place in the Japanese war machine...if it counts as a 'place'. Less heavy historical detail (although the Kempeitai did exist and was heavily active in Occupied Asia during this time) and more on the characters themselves. We also get some insight into what drives Katara. That image with the dust in sunlight will be important in due course, I assure. And some bad news for the Gaang in the form of Gakki's drawing hand.

If any of you notice how much nicer this chapter looks, that's because it's been...gasp!...proofed! Many endless thanks to Assault Sloth for helping me make this chapter presentable, and I promise him I'll get his own awesome story back to him as soon as possible (trust me, it's great. You should all read it once it's up. And read his other stuff too. He gets nowhere near enough love for his talent).

Happy reading!


	15. Pt 2 Ch 5: Freighthopping

The rest of the evening had been comparatively uneventful. A dinner that had begun tense and uncomfortable became warm and even slightly raucous as the guests became used to each other's company. Sokka regaled the group with wildly exaggerated tales of his involvement in the Mongolian black market, and when flatly contradicted by Katara reluctantly gave the floor to Aang's stories of his journeys around Asia, which the young monk told with the practiced flair of a veteran storyteller. Conversation inevitably moved on to the here and now, and Haru's mother was only too keen to engage in gossip about the characters around town. Haru included a few scathing observations about his neighbours but mostly kept his comments in check, using them instead as narrative fodder for Katara's intense desire to hear about the townspeople's love lives. Serious subjects were intentionally avoided.

Sokka gulped through his serving and greedily asked for more, a request Haru's mother shot down without hesitation. Aang laughed at the attempt. In contrast to the others' full course meals, the monk contented himself with a bowl of rice (though he didn't object to having it seasoned), and ate it slowly and deliberately, intentionally drawing the meal out. As much as he loved being the centre of attention, he found simply listening to everyone's conversation to be just as rewarding.

Long after the food was eaten, and curfew had descended, Aang entertained everyone else with magic tricks, losing a fair amount of his Buddhist modesty amongst the oohs and aahs of his audience. After fishing a small fortune out of people's ears, he invited Katara to try some tricks herself. She didn't do very well, but Sokka did even worse when he barged in and attempted to steal Aang's thunder. Instead, he stole attention away by crooning his favourite jazz tunes, which was entertaining enough that no one minded how badly he was singing. While Aang was distracted by folding over laughing at Sokka's rendition of 'In The Mood', Haru was tutoring Katara in a corner on how to do Aang's magic tricks. Aang noticed, and suddenly the tremendous mirth he had been feeling drained away like he'd been unplugged.

They slept in the storeroom, lulled asleep by the patter of raindrops against the window as the torrent died down into a gentle summer shower. Sokka snored loudly enough to shake the door out of its hinges while Katara curled up under her blanket, cuddling a sack of flour. Aang stared at the ceiling, his mind buzzing with thoughts he'd managed to keep at bay until now. He was 50 years gone from his past, in the midst of a conflict he could barely understand, chased by a soldier with a chip on his shoulder of Himalayan proportions, heading into the kind of trouble he'd been trying to get _away_ from in the first place, in possession of abilities he could only barely comprehend, and just to top it off with icing and a cherry the monk was under the sneaking suspicion that he was falling in love. His head was cluttered and keeping him from shutting his eyes. Some house-cleaning was in order.

Aang pushed his blanket to one side and squatted in a corner under the window, grabbing five ruby red apples from a barrel in the storeroom to form a _mandala_, resting his arms into a _mudra_, bowing his head, closing his eyes, and reciting a _mantra_ under his breath. He made a concerted effort to purge his head of attachments and bring himself in touch with the infinite, but the finite weighed on his mind too heavily to make much headway. Despite his frustration, he persevered, and was rewarded for his efforts not by any sudden enlightenment but by tiring himself out so thoroughly that he finally fell asleep, still bolt upright.

* * *

"Sain banuu...?"

It was dark, but warm and comfortable. Time didn't seem to pass in this place. He could sense a dusty haze around him. From somewhere in the dim cavern of subconsciousness, a gentle voice spoke, "sain banuu...?"

He could have stayed there and listened to it forever.

"Aang! Will you stop dozing and snap your lazy ass out of it!? We gotta go!" yelled a young, irritated male who shook him harshly. The boy monk blinked himself awake at the rough handling and peered at the raving teenager through the heavy morning sunshine. There were better ways of waking up. Aang spent a good while remembering who he was, where he was and what he was doing.

"The...the documents came?" Aang rubbed his left eye wearily. The rain had cleared up completely and the storeroom was bathed in gold.

"Mother found them in her shopping bag on the way back from the bakery," Haru, who was leaning in the inner doorway with arms crossed, informed him. He was obviously troubled by this further proof of Volkov's reach into his family's affairs, but the job was done.

"So now we just need to get supplies together, buy some tickets and move on south to lands anew!" Sokka stood up before Aang and tapped his foot sternly, "we were just waiting for you to _get...up_! This ain't a holiday, y'know!"

"Sokka..." Katara dragged the loud-mouthing Mongolian to one side calmly, "..._enough_. He's awake. Blathering on about wasting time is just gonna waste _more_ time. We all needed the rest anyway. C'mon, let's get going."

Katara nonchalantly picked up her satchel and swung it around her shoulder. Aang noticed that the nurse and her brother were dressed and ready to go. Compared to them he was embarrassingly ill-prepared for travelling. He hurriedly got to his feet and grabbed his jacket from a corner, donning it over his robes. As he slipped his arms down its sleeves his body spun around and knelt in front of a stack of crates, whispering softly with hand outstretched for Momo to skitter his gerbilly way out of the gap between crates and onto his hand. He didn't need food to entice it. Creatures of all sorts had always seemed naturally inclined to gravitate to him. He would like to have thought it was down to his natural charm...but he knew better.

"You're not seriously taking that disease-ridden gremlin with you all the way down to Tibet, are you?" Sokka drawled, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"He's not gonna cause trouble, are ya buddy?" Aang stood up and held his arms out, slanting them so that Momo was obligated to scurry down inside the arm of his jacket, across his shoulder, and out the other side, leading the gerbil into his front coat pocket. Once achieved, he grinned and snapped to attention, clicking his sandals together and giving a mock salute to the militiaman, "ready to go!"

Sokka paused, giving Aang a scornful look, "remind me again why I'm taking you halfway across the continent?"

"Revenge?" Katara hazarded, stopping to look back at the boys as she waited near the inside door.

"Oh yeah..." Sokka smacked the side of his own head theatrically, turning to join his sister. Aang followed Sokka out the door as Haru stood to one side to let them pass. Katara made up the rear, walking determinedly and steadily out of the storeroom, her attention fixed assertively ahead of her.

"Katara..." Haru asked as she walked out, pushing himself off the wall to stand opposite her. Katara stopped and turned halfway toward Haru. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Katara lingered, mulling over her options. She had tried to avoid this happening, but she knew that the moment was destined to come eventually. She turned to the others and told them "go ahead. I'll catch up with you."

The nurse walked after Haru into a back room of the shop before the others could object. Aang's crestfallen gaze lingered after her disappearing figure. The optimistic mood he'd accumulated since the glorious morning burst into existence had been punctured, and the sounds of the street outside made the shop seem empty by comparison. It wasn't yet opening time, and the shop itself was dark and shadowy compared to the blazing light that streamed through the storeroom windows. The silence held an inescapable weight.

"Oh, stop looking so glum!" Sokka laid a reassuring hand on Aang's shoulder, smiling broadly as he shook Aang's body in a sincerely masculine attempt to lighten the mood, "you got no reason to worry! I'm just gonna give him five minutes before I go in there and beat his beautiful face into a pulpy mess. How's that sound?"

Aang's mood changed, thankfully, from listless melancholy to profound annoyance at Sokka's brutishness. The Mongolian just smiled wider.

* * *

"So...you're leaving." Haru stated the obvious as he closed the back-room door behind himself. 

The back room was at once living room, kitchen and bedroom, largely window-less and lacking electricity, populated by table, twin futons, stove and various items that couldn't fit into the storeroom, stuffed into an enclosed space that could have been called 'Spartan' if it weren't so cluttered. Haru and his mother shared responsibilities in the shop, and this morning it was the mother running errands while her son remained behind to get the shop ready and prepare breakfast. A conscious choice had been made the previous night that the group would leave as early as possible, so all the goodbyes had already been made...which made Haru's decision to extend the farewells something of a spanner thrown into the tight schedule. He looked slightly dejected as he turned to Katara. Although the nurse felt dejected herself, she tried not to show it.

"Yeah..." Katara confirmed neutrally, nodding slightly. Elaborating on the answer or criticising Haru's question seemed a pointless exercise.

"Okay..." Haru echoed, eyes drawn to the floor, opening up a huge silence between them. He tried to fill it "...how about...mm...eh..." and failed. Then he tried again "...maybe we could...ah...mm..." and failed even more embarrassingly, blushing like a species of hibiscus flower.

Katara could see what he was trying to say, and though it was eminently adorable she did need to get going. She moved closer to Haru, smiled and said calmly "don't worry, you can say what you want to say. I'm not gonna bite."

Haru smiled back blushingly, but at once his face took on a new intensity and he breathed in sharply to accentuate the gravity of his words, "you could stay here and help us."

Now it was Katara's turn to look away, partially out of shame. This was exactly why she had intentionally avoided him, and felt uncomfortable answering back, "you know I can't do that."

"Why not? You're brave and resourceful, and you're not like the others here," Haru argued, "you actually stand up for what is right. We could really use you here."

"Haru..." Katara sighed heavily and placed a sympathetic arm on the teenager's shoulder, staring him straight in the eyes, "I know you like me and I know how much this town needs help...but believe me when I say I'd be helping you more by helping Aang than I would be stuck here."

Haru sagged, but ultimately understood, "he's more than just a monk, isn't he?"

"I wish I could tell you more, but...I don't think that's wise," she restrained herself, thinking carefully, "I guess you can't come with us either, can you?"

"Someone's got to be the man of the house," Haru confirmed, leaving a constellation of things unsaid, "things are never easy, are they?"

"We all have our roles to play," Katara smiled disarmingly, "besides...wherever I go, my brother usually follows. You get me?"

Haru couldn't help but crack a smile, "I get you." Haru's hand came up to rest on Katara's shoulder in turn, and he looked gravely concerned, "just...please...don't get yourself killed."

Katara's smile fell away as the words lingered. Though the bruise from the barrel of Volkov's gun had faded from her cheek, she could still vividly remember the pressure and the white noise of fear that accompanied it, and realised she'd never entirely contemplated how_dangerous _this enterprise was. She'd thrown herself in without a second thought, and this was the first time someone had reminded her that she was only mortal.

Wait, it wasn't the first time. Maybe the first time stated baldly in words, but there was a time before when someone else had assured her own precarious mortality, and that someone was of far greater concern now. She took her hand off Haru's shoulder and placed it on the hand resting on her own, promising assertively, "I won't."

She walked aside to open the door behind Haru, and as the teenager brought his hand away Katara pulled at her satchel to steady it on her shoulder. The two shared a momentary last glance, leaden with meaning, before Katara shut the door behind herself.

* * *

Haru's mother had already given them plentiful supplies of food - including various fruits that they munched intermittently throughout the morning as a substitute for breakfast - so the group spent the small hours before the lifting of curfew, when the blinding sunlight flowed horizontally down main avenues and left the alleyways in cold shadow, acquiring maps from one of the few stores that dared to open this early for anyone apart from fellow shopkeepers. The moment straight after the lifting of curfew was often a curfew in its own right, as the authorities stopped those who coincidentally wandered out as soon as restrictions lifted. Volkov's protection proved invaluable for warding off suspicion, and local police and Manchukuo soldiers did nothing more than give polite nods as they wandered past the youngsters. 

"It's so quiet..." Katara murmured, finding the early morning stillness eerie. The other side of the valley across the river was still a dark green, while the cluster of buildings they navigated on the other side baked in the hot sun. A few plumes of smoke were beginning to rise from the various chimneys that sprouted up from the town, and they spotted the occasional cart loaded with goods being pushed from one street to another, but otherwise it felt like the town was waiting with bated breath for something. The excitement and buzz that marked the town the previous day was almost completely absent, feeling suppressed rather than missing. Halfway between crossroads Momo began to squeak incessantly, a lone squeal in the empty streets, and Aang was at a loss as to what was energising him so.

The heavy silence was punctuated by a loud cry, startling the group out of their thoughts. "Someone's in trouble!" Aang spoke, and ran without hesitation, imploring the others to follow him a little way down the long street and around the nearest corner. A short distance down, a young woman was pinned against the pavement by three local policemen. A basket lay tipped on its side, the various bottles and sauce pots once carried therein scattered across the road, some of them smashed with their contents dribbled out across the dried mud. The woman's raven-black hair was full of dirt and soot, her tunic and trousers torn and muddied, and one of her sandals had been thrown off in the struggle, as her arms were held down and her body squeezed against the ground by two of the policemen. A third senior policeman stood watch over the arrest. They didn't ask questions, and didn't look angry. She was a confused wreck, protesting repeatedly in tones furious, resentful, apologetic and disoriented, clearly not understanding why she had been singled out for such harsh treatment. Her body was searched and any spasm in response was dealt with harshly. The policeman looking over the arrest took time to look around and notice the three children standing up the road.

They had paused at the sight, but Aang had tensed up and looked determined to do something about this. He took two steps before a hand clasped around his shoulder and halted him. "Aang...don't..." Katara warned. The monk spun around, ready to snap at her until he noticed the way her hand trembled as it lay on his shoulder. He looked back pleadingly, desperate to do something, but the policeman gave a very stern look that sent across a very clear message. They had made a deal, and needed to abide by it. Sokka returned the look with a nod. The policeman nodded back.

"Come on, we got a train to catch," Sokka reminded the others, turning away to head back the way they came. While Katara managed to tear herself away, Aang lingered long enough to see the policeman look down apologetically as he turned back to his suspect. He was as Chinese as the woman he was arresting, and Aang realised that the policeman was just as trapped in this place as the person in his custody. The man indicated with his fingers to have the suspect on her feet, and ordered them to march down the street. Sometimes invisible bars are worse than visible ones, he decided, and turned away. Every step he took was a struggle, and he knew he could never do this a second time.

They made their way to the railway that cut across the valley at the southern end of the town. The railway station was one of the few places that could be considered a hive of activity at this time of the morning, as dozens of townsfolk gathered to travel south. Many were migrant workers who depended on the railway to take them to paid work elsewhere in Manchuria or civil servants who commuted from one part of Manchuria to another as part of their jobs. The yard outside the long brick building was littered with carts, cars and trucks loaded with luggage, disgorging them onto the porters and passengers clustered around. The group felt a little out of place travelling so light. A chuffing plume of smoke rising far to the west from a dip in the valley slope signalled the approach of their ride and prompted Katara and Sokka to quicken their pace. Aang had slowed down and was busy gawking at his surroundings when Sokka grabbed him by the arm and forcibly tugged him towards the station.

The Kwantung Army's priorities in the area were made clear by the closeness of the town's major Japanese base, which sat across a small bridge on the opposite side of the river from the station. An imposing armoured train sat on its own siding inside the barbed wire barrier surrounding the base. While the luggage porters dispensed with their cargo, a short distance away someone else was preparing to leave. So close and in the open that Aang might have spotted him with a pair of binoculars, a scarred Japanese teenage officer had gotten up early and was busily arguing with an unfortunate soldier that the steel plating they promised to provide the day before turned out to be pig iron. And out the main gate, beknownst to neither the Japanese officer nor the Tibetan monk, was a truck on a courier run to destinations around the region, loaded with posters.

* * *

"Three to Beijing, please!" Sokka smiled unnaturally as he plonked down the Silver Yuan necessary for the tickets into the small gap underneath the ticket booth's glass visor. The booth was set into the wall on one side of a wide corridor leading from the outside to the platform, loud and heaving with passengers hefting luggage, loved ones coming to either greet newcomers or say their goodbyes, and a long grumbling line of ticket buyers of which the gang was at the head. The large, good-humoured, female ticket-person sighed for what was probably the thousandth time today, as it seemed like every day had people like this. All three of them smiled as unintentionally creepily as they could manage in their attempt to come across as legitimate, law-abiding folk. 

"That's very nice and all, but travel to the Republic of China is heavily restricted. So unless you have the proper documentation-" she never got the chance to finish the sentence as before her vision bloomed a sea of documents. Passports, identification papers and travel permission slips all readily stamped and above board. The woman in the booth adjusted her glasses and peered, at first confused but quickly becoming delighted. It was always pleasant when the customers actually did their homework for once. She smiled at them and swivelled a handle to wind out three tickets from a hole in her desk, taking the money with her other hand and saying, "three to Beijing it is! Have a safe trip!"

"Wait," spoke a voice.

The booth lady tensed, hand paused in mid-air with three one-way tickets held between her fingers. The one word pierced the air in a strange manner. It was excessively enunciated, as if the word didn't come naturally to the one who spoke it. The murmur around them died down, and several passers-by stepped warily away from the group. The three lost their smiles and looked confused at each other. From the direction of the platform, the crowd parted. Three tall, thin, authoritative men asserted their space, walking in a tight delta down the centre of the corridor. They wore Kwantung Army uniforms, but didn't have the posture of soldiers. The two following the leader had white and red armbands on their right arms, while the leader had an officer's pips on his collar, accompanied by a badge in the shape of a golden star. Their uniforms looked far too clean, and their tight faces looked down at the children demeaningly. They were the first Japanese faces they'd seen since they entered Hailar, and by cruel chance happened to be the very Japanese they were told to avoid. Aang, Katara and Sokka found themselves face-to-face with the Kempeitai.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be prudent to allow you to board a passenger train leaving the Empire of Manchukuo without some prior scrutiny. Would you, perchance, answer a few of our concerns?" the Kempei officer smiled. His Mandarin was officious, and unnaturally polite. Despite his flowery language, every syllable carried an economical measure of menace, making abundantly clear that this wasn't a _request_.

"Of...course!" Sokka sweated, stepping away from the booth to stand before the officer. The Kempei behind the officer smiled and turned their heads a little to one side, looking at Sokka across the shoulders of their leader. The encounter had an otherworldly feel to it, as if the three military policemen didn't really _belong_ there in the physical space they occupied.

"May I inspect your firearm?" the Kempei leader asked pointedly. The militiaman reluctantly swung his rifle off of his back and held it out to the officer, who gazed upon it like it was some kind of unsightly rash. He sneered slightly and looked back up at the Mongolian, "I trust you have some kind of permission to wield this weapon?"

"Uh huh!" Sokka confirmed, reaching into the pocket of his tribal tunic to bring out a crumpled piece of paper with an official stamp and signature on the bottom. He smiled as he produced it, expecting the same acquiescence to officialdom he'd met up to now, only to emit a strangled cry when the coloured paper was swiped out of his hand and held close to the officer's face. The Kempei took a pair of spectacles out of his front pocket and shook them open, placing them on his face to peer carefully at the document. To Sokka's distress, the officer giggled childishly at it, showing it to the other Kempeitai.

"Mite, mite!" the officer implored the others cheerfully, and as the armband-wearers looked over his shoulder they laughed in turn. The officer turned back, all smiles, "so, Mongolian horseman, are you? Qualified to carry a rifle to protect your horses, then? If that's the case, what possessed you to suddenly enter the Twentieth Century and take an infernal locomotive devil machine to Beijing? Why not just lead your 'horde' down south and burst through the Great Wall yourselves? You never held reservations against it before."

The two Kempei behind him were barely containing themselves. Sokka's mouth was flubbering like a fish in confusion, prompting Katara to speak instead. She didn't give the jerks the dignity of a covering smile, "we're escorting this Buddhist monk south for missionary work. He's protected."

The armband-wearers looked nervously at each other. Missionaries were respected by the Japanese authorities, and the rank and file didn't like bringing bad fortune upon themselves by crossing a religious figure. The officer was unmoved, and officiously replaced his spectacles in his pocket and handed the document back, "be that as it may, while this Tribal Provision Licence is valid under the laws of the Empire of Manchukuo, you will have to make different arrangements before you can enter the Republic of China. And considering it's rather unlikely that you'll have the opportunity to properly dispose of a live weapon in the middle of a train journey, I have to ask that you surrender your firearm now. Unless you can produce an equivalent to this Manchukuo licence under Chinese law."

"But...you _own_ both of them!" Sokka uttered with exasperation. Katara's palm flew to her face, while the Kempeitai sneered as one.

"Oh...you_didn't_ just do that..." the Japanese official smirked, clearly pleased that he did. The armband-wearers reached for their holsters while the badge-wearer placed his right hand on a sword sheath that looked unnervingly well-used. Aang's eyes widened as he realised that they were just looking for an excuse. In a split-second's movement he squeezed himself between Katara and Sokka and stood directly in front of the Kempeitai, head bowed, eyes closed and hands clasped, looking calmer and more contented than any boy being threatened with blade and bullets had any right to be.

"Your diligence is to be commended, kind sirs. He who is watchful and has a concentrated mind will achieve the highest bliss," Aang busily dredged up as much of his teaching as he could remember off the top of his head and spun it in as convincingly cryptic terms as possible, "but you must still fill your minds with compassion. Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else. You are the one getting burned."

Aang kept an expression of detached seriousness, and only let it slip slightly to peer out one eye at the Kempeitai. The enlisted men behind the leader had grown unsure and weary of interfering with the karmic order of things, while the officer had merely grown angrier. One of his men poked a finger up and began to ask, "ano...Taii-sama...moshikasuruto..."

"You appear to be under the mistaken impression that I was born yesterday, little one," the officer nonchalantly grabbed Aang by the collar of the jacket he wore over his robes and pulled him close to his face, "you will find it is hard to pull wool over the eyes of a member of the Japanese race, especially by a Chinese imp like yourself."

"Ah ah ah!" Aang warned imperiously, waving a fearless finger in front of the Kempei's eyes, "one cannot make others suffer without suffering in turn. Violating my person violates the most fundamental of karmic laws, and as I have devoted my body to being a pure conduit for the universal karmic essence your actions will rebound on you..._instantly_."

"Oh don't be absur-_iiiiitaitaitaitaitai!_" the Kempei winced in pain and snapped his hand away from Aang's collar, sucking it urgently and blowing on the four neat red marks embedded into the space between his right thumb and forefinger. His blowing slowed as he studied the wound, and eyed Aang disbelievingly, "did your jacket just _bite_me?"

The two enlisted men gawped at each other, hesitated in surprise, and together bowed their heads and screwed their eyes shut, hands clasped together reverentially in Aang's direction. One spoke in broken Mandarin, "deep, deep apology, wise child! It bring shame to blacken karma of ours in such manner! Please...to us forgive..."

The officer's wounded surprise gave way to eye-rolling annoyance as he realised what his men were doing behind his back. He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling that it had to be bad karma to have such imbeciles inflicted on him. He pinched his nose and muttered under his breath, "baka yaro..." He then placed his wounded hand back on his sword hilt and laid the other hand on his hip, staring down irritably at the monk and declaring, "do your travel plans involve returning to Hailar in the immediate future?"

Aang looked at the others, who both shook their heads, and turned back to shake his head in turn.

"Good," the Kempei decided, clamping his hands on the back of his colleagues' necks while concentrating his gaze on the gang, making the two Japanese military policemen squeak uncomfortably and sag upon realising they'd done something terribly wrong. The officer commanded the children, "grab your tickets and get out of my sight."

"Okay!" Aang beamed happily, waving the officer as he marched off with his underlings in tow, "smells ya laters!"

"I gotta hand it to ya kids. All the years I been sitting behind this glass visor, I ain't never seen nothing like that before," the ticket booth woman smiled smarmily as she slid the tickets through the gap below her window to Sokka, and winked at the militiaman, "take care yerselves, sugar."

"...will do," Sokka responded, half confused, as he picked the tickets up. The murmur around the group was returning, a little more self-assured than before, but it didn't matter all that much to Katara, who looked at the island in the crowd that Aang inhabited with nothing less than admiration. He was still giggling to himself and petting his companion gerbil warmly. Aang eventually caught the glance and blushed happily. Katara giggled.

A whistle tore through the air, catching the attention of the crowd. In Katara and Sokka it refocused their mental directions, but in Aang it gave them a fresh, hyperactive energising. He spun around in amazement at the sound, and his wide smile became impossibly wider as he saw a glimpse of the giant machine chuffing down the platform inside the station. Gasping in excitement, he ran ahead of the rest onto the platform, unable to contain himself as the locomotive heaved and spat and rumbled along, pulling the great weight of the carriages behind it. Katara was wary, as one who had seen trains before was liable to be, but she found herself remembering a time when things like this were fresh and new, and when each wonderful revelation came as electrifying to her as this train did to Aang. She smiled again as she stepped forward onto the platform, the sunlight burning the tops of the carriages and creating pits of shadow where the train blocked the horizontal light. The nurse approached the monk and laid a hand around his back. Her pleasure at Aang's excitement became tinged with worry, however, as she noticed that despite Aang's gleeful grin...there were tears in his eyes.

The boy stood away from the reach Katara's arm, sniffed his nose and wiped his tears. It was too much to take in at once.

* * *

"Three to Beijing..." the old, bearded ticket inspector weezily twisted the handle on the machine that was slung around his neck and shredded the three connected paper tickets, making a note of them in a book that also hung around his neck. The inspector didn't seem terribly happy with his job, and shuffled to the next lot of passengers very reluctantly, dragging his body weight with him. 

The carriage consisted of a long, open space with benches set into both sides facing each other, running down the length of the compartment. Large windows flanked the carriage above the benches, and everything inside was made out of wood. There were straps hanging down from the centre of the ceiling, but they went largely unused as space was plentiful. There were few passengers this far north, and the crowds that had gathered around the building had only looked large in comparison to the comparatively small station. Katara and Sokka sat halfway down the bench with their backs to the platform and waited quietly for the train to move, but Sokka was eventually moved to distraction by the bald-headed boy bouncing up and down on his seat, leaning up, facing the window and muttering "oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!" to himself endlessly. Hoping to entice Aang onto some other subject matter, Sokka dangled a conversational carrot.

"That was some pretty smooth talking with the Japanese back there," Sokka complimented. Though it was no more than an alternative conversation topic, the Mongolian _was_ still rather impressed. Aang turned, a smile still perpetually stapled onto his features.

"I can't take all the credit," the monk fished Momo out of his pocket and petted the squeaking animal gratefully, "we'd have been in serious trouble if Momo here hadn't given them some karmic payback."

"Eheh...nice try, squirt, but I _refuse_to give recognition to a _rat_..." Sokka jibed, not worrying excessively about being overheard. Although the carriage was not terribly crowded, the other passengers were still loud and numerous enough that their conversation was lost in the babble. The militiaman tugged on his rifle belt, smiling, "I have no idea how you did it, but you really had those jerks hook, line and sinker with that nonsense you were spouting."

"Hey, you could do with listening to that stuff too, you know," Katara threw her own devious grin into the mixture, "goodness knows, people would think you've got hot coals strapped between your toes, the amount of anger you have."

"_I am an ocean of calm,_" Sokka countered angrily, "and I don't need magic pixie dust to tell me when I should or shouldn't be angry at something."

"You know, anger isn't _all_bad," Aang pointed out, remembering one of the things his old teacher used to tell him, "being angry at something bad happening might make you do something about it, and then you'd be doing a good thing, even if there's anger behind it. You just have to keep in mind what you're angry _at_. It's all about moderation, in the end."

"Oh come on, that's not a religious teaching, that's just common sense!" Sokka continued to argue, extending an arm in Katara's direction, "I mean, Katara's more religious than me, and she's angry at _everything_. You wanna do something about _everything_, Katara?"

The nurse geared up for a testy response, but instead just turned her head and glared at the window. She saw the people walking to and fro on the platform and the Kempeitai clustered in a small corner, and spoke in a low voice, "I know what I'm angry at."

Sokka's anger quelled, as he noticed that dangerous look in her eye that she always got when she felt like Righting an Injustice somewhere. The militiaman warned, "Tibet. Remember Tibet, Katara."

Katara's eyes lingered over the platform, her face forced into a scowl. She was only tenuously restraining herself from jumping off the train and doing something about the problems in Hailar. She shook her head and re-focused, reminding herself, "Tibet, yeah."

The opportunity passed.

"Huh?" Aang felt the rumble as the station seemed to start moving to the left. The monk leant back up on his seat and regained his former enthusiasm in a heartbeat, seeing his own wide grin reflected back at him as he saw the scenery move by, "hey! _Hey! We're moving! We're moving!_"

"Yes, thank you, Aang," Sokka drawled sarcastically as the boy leapt from one side of the carriage to the other to look out the window facing south, eyes darting around, "we would never have noticed if you hadn't pointed it out just now."

"Wowwwwww..." Aang gasped, seeing the southern stretch of the dark green valley come into glorious view before him, lit orange by the early sun. A journey across the river that would have taken them at least a minute was traversed in seconds, and the boy couldn't help but press his face against the window. He couldn't imagine travelling so fast in a space where the air was so still. His last journey in the armoured car was spent inside an enclosed tin can, while riding on Appa left his lips blasted off his face by the wind rushing through. This was something altogether new. He took physical pleasure in seeing his breath condense on the cool window. The sun would warm it soon enough, as it looked like it was going to be a glorious day.

But the vista was to be interrupted by an unnerving sight. He hadn't registered the barbed-wire fence that only partially blocked his view, but the enormous shadow that passed across the train surprised and shocked him, propelling his face away from the window. Small glimpses of sunlight peeked through small, regular gaps in the giant object that slid past his view. It was so close, and the early morning shadows so extreme, that he couldn't make out a single detail. Once sunlight hit full force again he had a chance to look back. It was a train sitting on a siding behind the barbed-wire fence that ran alongside the track, two gates at either end allowing it controlled access to the railway, but completely unlike the train they were on. This train had layers of armour inches thick and loudly displayed weaponry on every surface not already adorned with the Japanese flag.

Aang retreated back to the other side of the train and sat down, his enthusiasm dented. The other passengers continued talking amongst themselves and staring into their newspapers. The Qoghusula hitched his knees close to his chest and stared at the floor, while Katara looked off to the side guiltily and Sokka leaned back and stretched his arms along the bench, getting himself some extra shut-eye. No one noticed an armoured car leaving that same base they passed not seconds before.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's note: **It's been six weeks since my last instalment. _Six weeks_. This is simply unacceptable! I'm going to give my lazy, insolent brain a good talking to, I'm telling you that much. I've made a start on the next chapter, and it promises to deliver a touch more on action as things come to a head and the build-up finally resolves itself. For now I'm afraid you'll have to be satisfied with this paltry offering.

Much, much kudos to Assault Sloth for again proof-reading this work. His input has been invaluable and his very involvement magically improves things. So read his stuff! Ingrates.


	16. Pt 2 Ch 6: Bad Road

The armoured car braked to a sudden halt by the street side, courtesy of the large truck it thumped into. The repairs hadn't gone as smoothly as Zuko had hoped. A quick rub against his sore forehead later and he was clambering out of the car towards an out-of-the-way alley that he'd been reliably informed contained a specialist electronics shop. He had grown weary of 'reliable information' in the two years he had been scouring Asia for the Qoghusula, and especially so of this newest tip from his Uncle, of all people, who had exited the car from the opposite side and was busy stretching his arms and breathing in the cool morning air. Major Hinaga turned to ask, "are you_positive_ this shop will supply us with what we need?"

"How on Earth would I know a thing like that?" Iroh responded testily, but easily, professing a dignified ignorance, "I wouldn't know the difference between a radio set and an _oven_, my dear nephew. All I know is that this friendly fellow recommended this place to me over a fine glass of rich, sensuous wine. He said that there wasn't a finer place for spare electrics within a _hundred_ miles."

"And you'd trust a guy in a sleazy underground bar because he gave you a good drink?" Zuko could see the depressing inevitability of all this.

"You can tell a man's integrity by his taste in wine," Iroh smiled and winked, "and that was some _very_ nice wine."

Zuko screwed his eyes shut, took off his cap and ran his hand over his face and through his hair, warding off his lack of sleep and his growing annoyance at his uncle's antics. When he opened his eyes again he noticed a small crowd of locals that had gathered to watch the motley crew and their malfunctioning vehicle. A stern glance from his scarred eye seemed to remind them of their daily chores and scatter them without a word said. Zuko sighed and fitted his cap back on his head. No one dared cross the Japanese around these parts unless they had a weapons cache to back them up. Jaded as he was by his country's mission statement, this state of affairs struck Zuko as rather depressing.

"Lieutenant!" Zuko called the wiry man in spectacles skulking warily past him, who jumped to attention, "what parts will you need to conjure up a replacement for the Detector?"

"Th...the Quantum Wavelength Detector was originally based off of an electromagnetic spectrum detector, and those are...those aren't..._too_ hard to get, sir," Hibiki Gakki bowed his head and pushed his spectacles respectfully up the bridge of his nose, "most electronic shops would have the necessary parts, sir, it's just putting them_together_ that will take time...sir."

Zuko arched an eyebrow. He had a hard time believing he was intimidating enough to terrify the man _this _much, as a remarkably straightforward question had been answered in as roundabout and groveling a way as seemed possible. The officer's expression softened as he recognised the root of the problem. Or at least he thought he recognised the root of the problem - he had no idea how these things worked.

"At ease, Lieutenant. Look..." Zuko began, feeling completely out of his depth, having long asserted to himself that he didn't 'do' sensitivity, "I guess there's never going to be a 'good' time to do this, so...okay. I apologise for leaving you behind in that Mongolian village. As you can doubtless appreciate, we were under fire and it's hard to make snap decisions, but I have to think about _all _my men and not just individual soldiers. Rescuing you would have left us exposed, and...well...maybe we could have found another way to get you back. But, like I said, snap decision under fire. You're back now and that's the important thing. So, now I've apologised, will you please _kindly _get over whatever problems you're having, get back to your work and _keep an eye on our mission!?"_

Gakki flubbered like a fish for a moment and then bowed more strongly than ever, sternly rigid and beside himself with embarrassment, "my gravest apologies, sir."

"Don't_apologise_, just do your job," Zuko reprimanded, turning away and into the alleyway.

* * *

"Oh fer...since when did electronics become so _popular _lately..." Gangyi creaked upright to face the men entering his humble little shop. The old man had become accustomed to thinking of unpopularity as holding its own kind of dignity, which made new customers an unwelcome intrusion into his personal space. Especially when they tended to be immature little sprogs who treated wireless sets as toys, leaving him little compulsion to improve his customer service etiquette. However, his irritable tone did a 180 upon discovering what manner of new customers these gentlemen were, their leader's boots thumping loudly on the dusty floorboards. He paused rigidly, then put on a gracious, plastic smile and greeted the newcomers, "oh...uh...konnichiwa, mikatas..."

"Please don't do that, it's embarrassing," the scarred Japanese officer had come to a halt some distance from the door, taken off his cap and begun to peer threateningly across the shelves of green and grey metal cases, talking in flawless Mandarin, "'mikata' doesn't even _have_ a plural...is this all you have?"

Gangyi, caught slightly off guard, took a moment to collect himself, "there's more out the back, but..."

"My technician will detail the items we require, and you will supply them to us," Zuko insisted, "if you do not have the necessary materials, you shall direct us to where we can _acquire _said materials. Understood?"

"Of...of course..." Gangyi gave an uncertain nod, gathering the impression that this soldier was abrasive even by the standards of Japanese officers. He had a policy of not crossing his best customers (of which the Japanese made up a decisive majority) but something told him this man wasn't to be lumped in with his countrymen on the 'best customer' list.

"Say...would you happen to be Manchu?" an old man in an unmarked, slightly unkempt uniform piped up from behind Zuko with an interested expression. A measure of the young officer's sternness depleted suddenly.

"Yes...why do you ask?" Gangyi questioned the fellow. Iroh grinned, feeling satisfied.

"I recognised your accent!" the old general remarked, immensely satisfied with himself, "I've always had time for the Manchus, myself. Excellent conversationalists and such _wonderful _steamed dishes. It's been a long while since I sat down and had a decent conversation with a Manchu. My nephew here is such an impatient fellow, doesn't think about how much an old man like myself needs his breakfast! I don't suppose once this business is dealt with, you'd care to share a meal with us? I might just require Manchu expertise with the kind of food we have."

"_Ojisan..._" Zuko interjected, burying his exasperated face in the palm of his hand. He purposefully calmed himself, "Lieutenant Gakki, please inform the gentleman of our requirements..."

"Hai, Shosa-sama," the short and wiry technician took a piece of paper out of his top pocket and unfolded it, twiddling his spectacles with one hand to read better, "okay, first we need..."

"Consider, Zuko, I know we're on a tight schedule and everything," Iroh came dangerously close to whining, "but every day we go through cold, tinned pork...cold, tinned pork...cold, tinned pork...and I think it would be good for both the men's morale and their digestion that this good man's expertise could go into spicing things _up _a little."

"Sir,_please..._" Gakki scrunched up the piece of paper he was holding in pathetic frustration, "it's hard enough figuring out how to translate this list into Chinese!"

"Actually..." Gangyi pondered aloud, holding a hand over the counter and holding a dangerously wry smile, "I've gotten used to calling things by their Japanese names. Comes with the business I'm running. I can't say I've cooked anything special in a good long while, being a widower like m'self, but I think I can pull a few strings in exchange for a pleasant meal with your uncle, here."

Zuko shot Iroh an icy glare, but Gakki gratefully relented and handed the shopkeeper the list. Gangyi peered at the katakana, turning the paper around several times before his brow furrowed and he gave his thick beard a good scratching. Zuko grew impatient and asked pointedly, "well!? Can you supply us or not!?"

Gangyi put the piece of paper on the counter and looked surprised, "it's the funniest thing...you're in luck, my friend! Just yesterday I came into possession of a piece 'o merchandise that handily ticks all yer boxes." Gangyi ducked under the counter and brought out the Thingymajigger he purchased the day before, placing on top and beaming at a sale well-made. He sold further, "a little worse fer wear, but then I guess you guys don't go in for prettiness, do ya? It's what's _inside_ that makes electronics _electronics_."

Gakki found cause for suspicion in Gangyi's statement, but looked the thing over anyway. It seemed a mundane, tatty piece of equipment until a spark of recognition entered his head. Every second his eyes lingered over it caused them to widen. He picked up the device and turned, wandering tremblingly towards his superior officer, muttering in shared realisation, "Shosa-sama..."

Zuko grabbed the Instrument and looked it over, grim and certain as to its authenticity. Iroh looked over Zuko's shoulder and wondered what all the fuss was about, since one piece of newfangled machinery looked much like any other. He smiled as he said, "oooh! How handy! It's almost exactly like the one we lost."

"There's no_almost _about it, Uncle. It _is _exactly like the one we lost," Zuko looked up from the Instrument and towards the shopkeeper, "who gave this to you?"

"Just some local kid and his friends," Gangyi grew concerned, "why? What's the big deal?"

Zuko turned and threw the Instrument at Gakki, who had barely enough wits about him to catch the thing, crying out in surprise. Zuko barked, "get back to the rest of the Unit and have them deployed. Whether they're ready or not. Get them all up here. _Now._"

Gakki nodded in subdued terror and ran out the shop as fast as he could manage, clutching onto the grey, booted device. Gangyi was struck at the audacity of this and registered his affront with a loud, "hey! That costs a hundred Silver Yuan!"

"These kids. Who were they, and where are they now?" Zuko asked harshly, marching up to the counter to stare threateningly in Gangyi's face, a gesture which the older man returned unabashedly.

"Listen, I'm very grateful for what your people have done for this country and the Manchu people, but you can't just come in here, pick up what you like and expect me to answer your questions!" Gangyi protested, leaning over into Zuko's face before realising something, "you're not even with the Kwantung Army, are you?"

Zuko grabbed the man's shirt and pulled him hard across the counter. Transistor bulbs, diagram sheets, metal plates and screws clattered, clumped and smashed against the floor. Gangyi had the breath knocked out of him by the sudden violence of being dragged across a wooden surface, and creaked his neck painfully to look up into the scarred young man's grim, bitter face, mere inches away. The officer threatened, "perhaps I didn't make myself clear..."

He could hear a heavy sigh from an old man sagging, "looks like cold, tinned pork for dinner again, tonight."

* * *

Aang breathed another pool of condensation onto the glass and made a smiley face to join the small colony of other smiley faces already inhabiting the carriage's window. Katara was busily scribbling a few more observations into her journal while Sokka had his head thrown back against the top of the bench, eyes shut and bellowing a sound akin to the train being sawed in half. His rifle lay across his shoulder and, unseen by the others, two malnourished Chinese kids, a boy and a girl, were busily stifling giggles and sneaking towards the weapon. Tiny hands reached across to touch the deadly contraption and small eyes stared hungrily through masses of unkempt black hair. The girl shushed her friend and stretched a chubby fingertip towards the rifle.

The moment contact was made, the sawing noise ceased, the rifle swung away and the girl found an alert Mongolian eyeball staring down the barrel of a loaded gun aimed square between her eyes. An outburst of screaming from the rest of the carriage abruptly reminded Sokka where he was and obliged him to point the rifle away and hold it harmlessly above him with one hand, smiling disarmingly as he fished a piece of paper out of his trouser pocket. He called out "it's okay! It's okay! I got a licence! _Tribal licence!_ I am _licensed _to have this! That means I'm a responsible individual!_Responsible...individual..._"

Sokka slowly levered his rifle down and looked sheepishly first at Aang's raised eyebrow and then at Katara's scornful look. Feeling a little ashamed of himself he hurriedly unloaded the rifle and set it upright on the bench between himself and Katara. Finding the girl still frozen in place, he pointed a cautionary finger at her, "now don't do that again, short round." She nodded quickly in terrified agreement.

"Now I can see why Volkov let you keep that thing," Katara spoke with a tinge of disgust, "it's his long revenge for not laughing at his terrible jokes."

"C'mon! It'd be a dangerous journey without this thing," Sokka patted the empty rifle.

"It's dangerous _with _it!" Katara snapped her journal shut in irritation, "you're going to have to hand it over before we get to Beijing anyway! All it's doing now is taking up valuable space!"

"And what do you propose we do when we run into trouble, then?" Sokka challenged his sister, "confuse them with witty banter?"

"Violence can't solve everything, Sokka," Aang interrupted this argument with his own opinion.

"Okay, how about _some _things?" Sokka reached.

"No! Nothing! No exceptions!" the monk was adamant.

"If you don't 'do' violence, then what about when you got away from your close pal Zuko?" Sokka poked at Aang's argument.

"That's not violence!" Aang sat back, looking around uncomfortably, "...not...technically. I mean, it was pretty much_self-inflicted_..."

"_Sure _it was. The top of that van _just happened _to collapse on itself. It's a wonder we got this far, with things conveniently destroying themselves around you," Sokka leaned his head back and stretched his arms exhaustively, "speaking of getting this far, where _are_we anyway?"

"We just passed Angangchi, so we're over halfway to Harbin," Katara consulted her journal, "I guess all trains go through there. We might have to change, I'm not sure."

Sokka furrowed his brow and pulled out one of the maps he acquired that morning from Katara's satchel, partially unfolding it to study it more closely. He stuck his tongue out in careful thought, "that means we've gone 300 kilometres...one small nap and we go 300 kilometres south-east. You know what that means?"

"What?" Katara dreaded the answer.

"That means that if we'd stayed on Appa, we'd probably be in Beijing by now," Sokka ruminated.

"Don't tell me you're _still _whining about that stupid motorbike, are you?" Katara pressed her fingers against her brow.

"Don't make fun of him! He must have been really attached to it!" Aang stood up for Sokka.

"Nah, I should get over it. We didn't need him signposting us," Sokka mourned over the map, "I _should _get over it, but I _can't_ for some reason."

"No shame in it. I guess it was like a...companion to you," Aang said, jogging his own sense of responsibility enough to rummage through two pockets of his jacket and bring out his pet and food for it. Momo tucked into the contents of Aang's palm eagerly.

"Well you never know," Sokka folded the map back up and handed it to Katara, looking optimistic, "Volkov did say he knew a guy in Beijing interested in him. Maybe I might run into him again soon."

"I'm sure you will," Aang smiled, "threads once woven are hard to unravel."

A furrowed brow emerged on Sokka's face, and he leaned forward to ask, "where did_that_ pearl of wisdom come from?"

Aang found himself furrowing his own brow, looking down in thought and back up at the others, concluding "you know...I'm not really sure..."

Sokka leaned back and sighed in exasperation, flailing an arm in Aang's direction, "I know you find him adorable, Katara, but he just creeps me way the hell out. Any moment now he's going to start hypnotizing people, I'm sure of it. The cute little boy thing? It's all an act. Every last bit of it."

"Uh huh..." Katara murmured, looking closely at the map Sokka had handed to her. Sokka leaned over her shoulder in curiosity and found her line of sight lingering over the dot saying 'Hailar'. The militiaman rolled his eyes.

"For the final time, they're going to be _fine_," Sokka asserted, "if you've gotta worry about somebody, worry about _us!_"

"Somehow, I don't think worrying about us and them are two different things..." Katara said cryptically, staring intently at that dot on the map.

* * *

"Haru, did you hear a word I said?" his mother distracted him from the task of sweeping the same patch of floor seven times. The teenager looked up at his mother, who was standing behind the shop's counter, arms folded sternly.

"Oh...sorry mother, I was miles away," Haru put the broom to one side, having noticed that a middle-aged woman was standing at the counter, and had probably been doing so for some minutes. She was a frequent customer and took the delay in his attention in good humour. Haru straightened himself, "what is it you need?"

"Bean sprouts! From the top shelf! The ones that should have been stacked this morning!" his mother complained, "you know those boxes are too high and heavy for me."

"Oh! Right!" Haru ducked into the store room and disappeared from view, diligently carrying out his task. Out of sight, his mother allowed herself a smile at the boy's dreaminess. All the same, it was unlike him to be so absent-minded at this time of day, when the shop was usually quite busy. She quickly realised that her son's thoughts were lingering over the children who had just left. There was nothing to be done for such matters, but she had to admit it was pleasant while it lasted.

"That son of yours doesn't seem entirely here, does he?" the customer patted her new, pinned hairdo as she commented. The woman tugged at her patterned shawl in a thinly-veiled effort to draw attention to her peculiarly western buttoned blouse and black skirt. Haru's mother's dark blue shirt and trousers were, by contrast, scrupulously traditionalist.

"Runs in the family," Haru's mother remarked, half-distracted, "he's a good boy, when he puts his mind to it."

"An undisciplined mind makes for an undisciplined person, I always say," the customer gave her opinion, "what the boy needs is a father."

Haru's mother snapped her head towards the customer and looked her fiercely in the eyes, "he's already _got _a father!" She consoled herself and continued in a cooler tone, "and if you're talking about that whiskey-soaked cousin of yours, then _no_. Just..._no_. I don't care if he's sobered up, I don't care if he has a steady position in the post office, and I _especially_ don't care if he's good in bed. I'm not having _that man_ as Haru's father."

"You two were like peas in a pod when you were teens," the customer ruminated.

"Yes, that was back when he still had all his teeth," the shopkeeper pointed out, "even if he personally drove out the Japanese with a toothpick, he can't replace Tyro. No one can. You know why? Because he's _still alive_."

"It's been two years, dear. I know it's painful but someday you're just going to have to accept he's not coming back..." the woman implored.

"_Haru!_" the mother interrupted, turning aside, "where're those bean sprouts!?"

"Sorry!" Haru called back, stumbling over objects until he finally emerged with a box of metal tins, "the box was under a bunch of jam jars, and I wanted to be careful in case I broke something." He paused halfway between the storeroom and the counter, noticing his mother's tense body language, the customer's uncertain glances from one person to the next, and the air of tension between them. The teenager coughed, "Am I inter-?"

"Not at all," Haru's mother interrupted, reaching into the box of bean sprouts without looking and slamming a tin on the counter next to the customer's other items. She gave another stern look, "I take it that's everything?"

"Y...yes, it is," the woman shrank under the gaze and began fearing for her discount. She made a brave attempt to get back on friendly terms, and looked around the shop for topics of pleasant conversation. Eventually she settled on the window and the most harmless conversation topic there was: the weather, "the day's really brightened up, hasn't it!? You couldn't tell there was a terrible thunderstorm yesterday..."

"Well, I wouldn't want to stand between you and your sunshine," Haru's mother grinned coldly, depositing the items into the wicker hand-basket the customer had placed on the counter some time earlier, "that will be 4 yuan, 75 fen, 5 li please."

The customer tipped her head to one side while looking out the window, distracted enough that she didn't notice her discount had disappeared. Abruptly, she turned back and smiled, pulling out her purse and hurriedly slapping a five yuan note on the counter, "there you go! See you soon!"

"Okay, just a sec..." Haru's mother took the note and opened a drawer beneath the counter, counting out the change. The customer grabbed her basket and rushed out the shop, flicking the shop bell carelessly. The shopkeeper looked back up, coins still in her hand, puzzled at the shutting door. She looked down at the handful of coins and up at Haru, "funny...that woman never forgets her change."

Haru looked around. The shop was still rather dark, despite the daylight outside, and a sense of foreboding was allowed to drift. He began to warn, "mother..."

The force that battered the door in was enough to tear the bell off the frame. Haru staggered backwards into the counter as soldiers ran over the busted door and flanked the shop. The teenager's head spun around as the doors that led from the storeroom and the back room met similar fates. Boots stomped, rifles swung and the shop's contents were thoroughly smashed inside a few seconds. The soldiers were Japanese, but looked different from the ones they usually saw riding through town. These were scraggier, grimmer, and held a strange air of dangerous desperation. Haru looked aside at her mother, and saw that she hadn't budged from her spot, a haunted look on her face and a bundle of coins still being held in her hand.

Hands slammed on the counter either side of him, and Haru turned quickly to find himself staring into the young, heavily scarred face of a man with a lot to lose. The officer's eyes stared piercingly into his, and Zuko yelled, "Lieutenant! Report!"

"No one else out back, sir," Jee walked in from the back room as another soldier walked in from the store room and shook his head. Jee concluded "and it looks like there's no one in the side one, either."

"There might be a cellar," Zuko pointed out, eyes still fixed on Haru, "so do you want to tell us who else is here, or do we start pulling up floorboards?"

"There's no one else! No one!" Haru shook his head desperately. Zuko observed Haru carefully, and decided.

"Okay," Zuko's arms left the counter and his face drew away from Haru's. The Chinese teenager sighed a deep sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived, however, as Zuko spun Haru around suddenly, pinned his arms behind his back and pushed his head into the counter. Coins clattered across the floor as Haru's mother planted her hands across her mouth in fright. Zuko continued, "so now where did they _go_?"

Haru grunted. He'd had enough of being pushed around like this, and said "where did _who_ go?"

"Three children. Two Mongolians...one male, one female...and a Tibetan monk," Zuko described patiently.

"Never seen them in my life..." Haru breathed harshly, glaring at Zuko out the corner of his eye.

"Really now?" Zuko considered grimly, and Haru found the Thingymajigger he helped sell yesterday slamming into his field of vision. The officer asked, "and I suppose you've never seen this before, either?"

"I don't even know what I'm looking at," Haru stated, which was really more of a half-truth than an outright lie. He sensed that this officer was in a hurry, and played on that insecurity, "you can beat me up and smash this place all you want, you're not going to get anything else."

Zuko considered this proposition seriously. The kid was young, cocky, and clearly convinced that he had a duty to peeve off the Japanese at the earliest opportunity...which just inconveniently happened to be _now_. Beating him wasn't an option unless it got the mother to talk...a thought that the young Major banished as soon as it entered his head. The moment a mother got involved in proceedings, Zuko's thoughts took on a whole extra layer of complication. Taking the mother out of things, there wasn't a whole lot he could do that would make this boy talk. Instead, he looked around for clues. The mother was handling money, so she must have been tending the counter. The boy's head was pressed next to an open box of tinned food, and a broom had clattered onto the floor having been set aside, so he was clearly the assistant in this shop. This was obviously a family business, and Zuko suddenly realised...where was the father?

"Is your father out?" Zuko prodded, hoping for something that would give them away.

"Fath...yes..." Haru's mother muttered barely coherently, "he's...yes...my husband is out. He'll be back soon. He'll...he's just coming...yes..."

"Yeah, he's coming back," Haru snarled, "and when he gets back, he's gonna take all of you on. He's gonna get the people to rise up against you bullies, the workers and the peasants you Japanese stepped on will kick back and ground you into the dirt! When he gets out, you're all gonna be sorry!"

"Haru! No!" his mother started in fright. The moment her hands clamped back on her mouth, Zuko knew he was onto something.

"Father in prison, a known agitator and communist by the sound of it, rest of the family would be kept under close watch," Zuko thought aloud, "the Kwantung Army is probably looking for an excuse to lock you all up. News that you harboured known fugitives, or even news of this raid, would be the excuse they're looking for."

"You...you couldn't," Haru's face turned pale.

"I could," Zuko bluffed. He couldn't do any such thing, in reality, as even besides his own personal objection to doing the Kwantung Army favours of any kind, the Army had made it a principle to ignore everything Major Zuko Hinaga requested if it involved effort on their part. But he banked on Haru and his mother not knowing that, and the desperate, pleading look Haru shared with his mother showed that this was a very safe bet. The boy was fearless until his mother was involved in the matter. Zuko understood how that felt.

"Okay..." Haru acquiesced, his body relaxing under Zuko's grip, "okay...I'll give you what you need..."

* * *

"Get us out of this dump," Zuko ordered the driver the moment he was safely enclosed inside the armoured car.

"Where're we headed, sir?" the driver gave his toothy grin, clearly glad to be getting back on the road.

"The Qoghusula's heading to Beijing by train," the Major pulled a military map out of a back compartment in the Chiyoda. The car rumbled in anticipation as he plotted their course, "he'll have to go through Harbin, so if we go due south to Mukden, we might be able to intercept him."

"Go down th' whole length of Manchukuo just to cut 'im off at th' pass?" the driver queried.

Zuko put the map away and gave the driver a funny look, "are you implying you_can't_ do it?"

"_I said no such thing, sir!_" the driver responded, mortally offended, turning ahead and getting into gear while Iroh groaned his way inside the Chiyoda and towards the back bunk. Lieutenant Hibiki Gakki closed the door behind himself and got seated, beginning his ritualistic fiddling with the Instrument.

"Go north out of Hailar, then turn south once we're out of sight of the watchtowers," Zuko ordered as the car's wheels rumbled into motion, "that should throw Colonel Kokami off the trail."

Retired General Iroh Hinaga relaxed loudly, poking a wooden pipe into his mouth and emptying a small cache of tobacco inside, moaning to anyone within hearing distance, "I wasn't done shopping, yet..."

"We weren't here to _shop_, Uncle," Zuko ignored, switching on the wireless set and listening into the latest updates with one half of the headphones pressed into his ear and a pencil in his other hand scribbling updates on their situation.

"I'm certain I had a more worthwhile experience shopping than you had terrorising the locals," Iroh scorned, jabbing his pipe in Zuko's direction accusingly, "every day I give you advice, and everyday I see it bounce straight off of you. Someday you'll think back on this and think 'why didn't I listen to my Uncle more often?' Mark my words, dear nephew."

"Uncle, please..." Zuko rolled his eyes and absent-mindedly peered out the slit in the side of the armoured car. The town in all its grey, sooty, muddy splendour zipped past in a blur. It was probably beautiful once, when the only economic importance it held was as a riverside crossing point for horse nomads, going willfully ignored until some busybody decided it was a splendid idea to plonk a massive railway next to it and his own government felt it warranted sending a pile of machines upriver to 'develop' the place. He was happy to see the back of it until he realised a vast portion of Manchukuo was much the same way.

Maybe Uncle Iroh was right. He needed to stop and appreciate things a bit more. If everywhere in Manchukuo was like this, then he needed to look deeper to find diamonds in the rough. After all, there was a whole tapestry of human life he was driving past. The children playing 'dare' to jump into a cart filled to the brim with tomatoes, the woman cursing loudly as she pulled in the clothes she had hung up on a line to dry that had gone grey from the soot, the gaggle of old men with far too little to do taking turns to dance wildly in the middle of a circle, and the two Manchukuo policemen who had lost a bet the previous night and were stuck with the thankless task of putting up wanted posters...

"_Stop the car!_" Zuko yelled at the top of his lungs, eyes burning fiercely as the Chiyoda shuddered to a sudden halt, the trucks following it skidding into several places across the road. The Major flung open the door and sprinted across the wide street to the wanted wall just as the Manchukuo police had turned and wandered away. He tore a poster off the wall and looked at it angrily. Soon he was joined by Iroh, Gakki and Jee, who had dropped out of his truck to join them in his capacity as second-in-command. They looked across their leader's shoulder at the poster, which featured a detailed drawing of their target accompanied by written variations of 'Wanted: Alive' in four different languages. His two friends were featured below and explained as accomplices. The Kwantung Army was not only aware of the Qoghusula, but had loudly declared to Zuko that the chase was on to capture him before they did.

"How did they..." Jee remarked, jaw dropping slightly at how much more insurmountable their task had become. Zuko, meanwhile, had studied over every line and detail of the poster until he shut his eyes in deep thought.

"Lieutenant Gakki," Zuko asked politely, "I don't suppose you had a hand in this, did you?"

"Wh...why would you suppose that, sir?" Gakki responded, acting as innocently as his sheer terror would allow.

"It's signed 'Hibiki'..." Zuko slapped the poster against Gakki's chest and strode angrily towards the Chiyoda, thinking furiously. Gakki took the poster in his hands and looked at it, feeling thoroughly deflated. Jee was busy giving him a scornful look, but Iroh leaned over his shoulder and broke from his inquisitorial mood.

"Good pencil-work, lad," Iroh whispered encouragingly, making Gakki feel a little better about betraying his superior's trust. The retired general then ran towards Zuko, waving his arm high and shouting, "wait, Zuko!"

"We _can't_, no thanks to that _traitor_," Zuko muttered, stopping short of the armoured car and burrowing his incensed gaze into the metalwork, "if Zhao gets to him first, it's all over."

"He was going to find out _eventually_, Zuko, the Colonel's just that kind of person," Iroh reasoned, "and after the way you treated Gakki, you have no one to blame but yourself. Now, I'm sure he's very sorry and he'll make up for it in the future."

"He'd_better_," Zuko sniped, opening the Chiyoda door, "as soon as we're out of Hailar and on our way."

"Well, that's just the thing, nephew..." Iroh whispered worryingly, glancing up the street towards the edge of town and the bridge across the river slightly beyond it, "..._look_."

Zuko's eyes turned to follow Iroh's glance, and through his scarred eye could see a number of platoons of sentries, accompanied by trucks, armoured cars and even a Ha-Go light tank, setting up positions and roadblocks between himself and the bridge. Looking back down the way, he could see more platoons and armoured vehicles scurrying from one side of the long street to the other. These were Japanese forces, troops of the 17th Division under Colonel Kokami's command.

Jee and Gakki clustered a little closer, looking warily from side to side. Zuko remained expressionless in thought. Jee spoke in a low voice, as if he was scared of being overheard, "maybe they'll let us through if we ask politely..."

"_Attention! Attention!_" a tinny sound reverberated through the atmosphere, "_this is a Security Alert! By permission of the Government of Manchukuo, the Imperial Japanese Army is placing the City of Hailar under martial law!_"

Zuko and his team looked down the street to see the source of the tin voice, and saw a trio of Japanese soldiers walking towards them flanked by two tankettes rumbling menacingly down the street. The soldier in the middle gave information by megaphone while another helpfully translated into Mandarin.

"_For the duration of the Security Alert, please be alert to all suspicious behaviour, and stay inside your homes until the Alert is lifted. Those not in their homes are instructed to return immediately to their places of residence,_" the soldiers passed a small family on their way to the groceries, and the megaphone-holder addressed them directly, "_that means you too. Come along! Please return to your home! We don't have all day...thank you. Why you needed to wait for that to be translated, I'll never know._"

"They think the Qoghusula is still in Hailar?" Gakki pondered quietly in confusion.

"They're not after the Qoghusula," Zuko figured, "they're after _me_."

The megaphone-holding soldier approached the unit and came to a halt, as did the tankettes, and demanded with a hand waving a 'come here' signal, "_Major Hinaga, Commander of the Imperial General Headquarters Extra-Ordinary Operations Unit, if you and your men could accompany us, we'll place you under secure guard. For your own protection, you understand, sir. Please return to your vehicles and follow us back to base. Please? Oh...just a second. Look, you don't_...ugh...you don't need to translate that bit, you cretin!"

"See what I mean?" Zuko shrugged.

"So, what do we do?" Jee whispered.

"Only thing we can do...we do what they've told us to do," Zuko turned slightly and gave a concentrated look that substituted for a direct order. Jee smiled as he acknowledged. They had planned for this.

"_In your own time, please!_" the megaphone rang out impatiently.

Gakki sheepishly accompanied Zuko and Iroh back inside their Chiyoda, while Jee walked by each of the trucks to relay what was going on...accompanied each time by a very loud wink to give Zuko's unsaid order. All the drivers understood and Jee clambered aboard the truck nearest the armoured car, which was rolling around in a small semi-circle towards its supposed escort.

"_Thank you, very kindly, for your co-operation,_" the Kwantung Army soldier lowered his megaphone and gave a satisfactory grin, "see? I knew he was a coward at heart. I told you he'd fold."

Suddenly the Chiyoda's engine revved up, and the soldiers found to their dismay that a hefty piece of machinery was charging straight towards them with all pistons firing. The soldier dropped the megaphone and turned white, leaping out of the way and burying his face in the mud as the armoured car surged through the escort. The Kwantung Amy man crawled back over to his megaphone as soon as the car had passed, either not noticing or not caring that the three trucks that followed Zuko had sped off in three separate directions.

"Get-!" the soldier yelled through the crushed megaphone. Angrily, he beat the instrument against the ground until it was halfway serviceable, and raged, "_get him! Don't let him escape!_"

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-07

* * *

**Author's Note: **Happy New Year of the Gregorian Calender to y'all, and I hope you've all managed to work off the holiday binge by now. This chapter's coming a little more quickly than previous ones thanks to the holidays giving me plenty of off time to get things done. Much of this is the set-up to a climactic chase sequence that I've been looking forward to writing and hopefully you'll look forward to as well.

Endless thanks to Assault Sloth for proofing this chapter. His help has been invaluable and extremely helpful. Other thanks goes to the Earth's rotation, for ensuring Winter Solstice-related festivities occur around this time, and Blackadder, for providing the inspiration for one of the more comic moments this chapter.


	17. Pt 2 Ch 7: Said The Spider To The Fly

The streets of Hailar buzzed with urgency. Troops that had fanned out across the city were given new orders by phone, radio, semaphore signals and men with loud voices that Hinaga's unit was making a run for it and they were to be stopped at all costs. One platoon had already set up a roadblock of wood beam and barbed wire, and waited with relish for the upstart to head down their way. Mere seconds later they realised that against a souped-up, roaring frame of metal charging at 60 miles an hour, a dozen men manning a few bits of wood and wire suddenly seemed rather meager. When the armoured car blared its horn to tell the soldiers to get out of the way, they dutifully obliged.

"_Ye call that a roadblock!?_" the driver cackled, busting the barrier into splinters. Fractured wood battered the hull and the impacts reverberated inside, making the passengers cringe. Zuko alone was unmoved, standing and peering over the driver's shoulder, his neck craned over the seat in the direction of the main window, while everyone else was safely seated with their fingernails drilled into whatever surface they could get their hands on. The driver's raucous laughter was strangled when he saw two articulated trucks emerge from either side of the street and block their way. The driver commented, "now, see, _that's_a roadblock."

"Go around it!" Zuko ordered sternly, bracing himself for the rough turn that promptly swerved the car to the left down a side street. Iroh quickly shifted his weight to prevent injury, but Gakki was too slow and felt his head impacting painfully with the hull. The car skidded into the next adjoining road and throttled down the long street, paying little attention to whatever pot hole or stack of crates might have been in the way. Passers-by ignored the Army's orders to head indoors and stopped to gawk at the careening vehicle, only to hit the deck and leap out of the way as one of the trucks that had blocked the last street crashed through a market stall and reversed as fast as it could. Zuko's armoured car banked rapidly and nipped through the rapidly closing gap in the street before the truck crushed its back against a shop front.

The soldiers driving the truck quickly abandoned the wedged vehicle to the angry mob that swelled around it, but there was a happy ending for the owner of the crumpled shop...the massive crates of rations and ammo that flew into his counter would pay for the damage and then some.

* * *

"My head is bleeding..." Gakki informed the rest of the car's rattled passengers. Receiving no response, he pressed his hand harder against the cut in his forehead and showed it to Zuko. "I said, my head is...!" he implored into Zuko's intense stare, realising with a growing churn in his stomach that the officer wouldn't have given a damn if his head had been sliced clean off. Putting his hand back against his wound, he sulkily averted Zuko's glare and looked over his instruments, "I'll...I'll monitor the Army's messages and see what they're up to...sir..." 

"_You do that..._" Zuko gritted his teeth, turning his attention firmly forward while Gakki shifted seats and pressed one of the wireless headphones against his left ear with his free hand. Zuko concentrated his energies on finding a way out of Hailar in one piece, ordering "keep switching streets! Don't let them anticipate where we're going next!"

"Where _are_we goin', sir!?" the driver tugged harshly on the steering wheel and sent the car's occupants stomachs twirling.

"The north's closed. East is the river and the west is a valley wall. That leaves south," Zuko surmised, "it's a slalom run. We lose Zhao's thugs in the streets and burst through the other end of town, make some distance between us before they can re-organise themselves."

"Oh, simple as that, then?" the driver quipped bitterly. The interior shuddered as the car ran over something. There wasn't any time to check what it was.

* * *

"_Isoide! Isoide!_" 

"_Hayaku! Boogai shimasu!_"

Boots thumped against mud. Streets that seconds before boasted arrays of colours became seas of mustard cotton. Wire was dragged, positions established, voices raised and tempers flared. All civilian activity ceased and daily life put on hold, the streets were claimed by guns and armour for a single, overriding purpose. The city was shut down to be converted into a war zone.

"Yi yu hu di!? _Yi yu hu di!?_" cried the woman being dragged off the street.

"_Doryoku shimasu suru!_" called the officer to his men dragging barriers through the puddles.

"What do we do sir?_What do we do!?_" asked the young collaborator urgently, unsure of his conscience.

"I don't know...take up painting?" Volkov answered in all honesty.

The Russian leaned against the brick wall, standing atop the metal stairwell, rolling up a cigarette as he observed the chaos being unleashed beneath him. In a sea of madness he stood as a weathered, rocky outcrop of sanity, utterly calm in spite of the descent of martial law. A young Chinese colleague had come to him seeking orders, as his terror of what was happening to his town overrode his terror of Volkov. This was no mean feat. The scrawny policemen appealed to the observing officer "we can't just sit here!"

"Why ever not?" Volkov blew out a small cloud of smoke, "if the Japanese want to do our jobs for us, I, for one, am not going to complain. Gives us a chance to relax a bit, get some rest, catch up on our reading...you don't think we deserve a break once in a while?"

His colleague shrugged impotently. He had given up trying to get to grips with his boss's jokes. Volkov took little notice.

"For example," he pretended to speak to no one in particular, "I was thinking this would be a good time to meet some old acquaintances. Some friends of mine are coming down from across the border and showing off their 'merchandise'. Problem is, there's just so _much _of it. I was thinking of just bringing the stuff across in bits and pieces, but it's almost like Colonel Kokami scheduled this with my rendezvous in mind. How thoughtful of 'im."

The wiry policeman, who had been picked for the job for his political reliability more than his quick-wittedness and attention to detail, visibly struggled with the strong hints Volkov was giving off. He nodded slowly, believing he got it mostly right, but just in case he was mistaken he asked "and by 'merchandise' you mean...'drugs', don't you, sir?"

Volkov pondered the policeman's query in silence. Eventually, he stepped away from the wall and leaned his arms on the railing, burying his face in his forearms and groaning loudly at his lot in life. To calm himself, he looked back up into the air in front of him and breathed in another waft of nicotine, remarking "Cossacks aren't exactly world-renowned for their subtlety, son. If your mind needs sharpening, then I've got a very creative friend with a really rusty toolbox who might just help you out."

The policeman swallowed, and Volkov chuckled harshly to himself. Leaning over the stairwell railings, he was in a good position to observe the hurricane going on around him. Below, an extremely nervous elderly merchant was furiously negotiating with a Kwantung Army higher-up that he couldn't leave his stall of produce behind to go indoors. The matter was decided for him, however, as a small gaggle of soldiers grabbed one end of the stall and dragged it away from the merchant.

"Sumimasen! Gomen nasai!" one of the soldiers called. The merchant shrieked and grappled the other end of the stall, dragging it back with desperate strength. It took half a squad to crowbar his fingers off. An errand boy kept his head low and ducked beneath the stairwell while Volkov laughed harder.

"You see that!?" Volkov smiled, "apologisin' _profusely_ before ruining someone's livelihood. If that isn't the Japanese in a nutshell, I don't know what is."

"They're crawling all over the place!" the policeman warned nervously, "how are we supposed to do a...a...'trade' under these conditions?"

"You want to know another trademark of the Japanese?" Volkov puffed and looked back at his employee whimsically, "anal retentiveness. The 17th has been given three standing orders. First, detain a Major Zuko Hinaga and his Extra-Ordinary Operations Unit 'for their own protection' and make sure they don't set foot outside Hailar. Second, prepare to re-deploy south. Third, capture a 12-year-old Tibetan monk with 'unusual attributes' and his two Mongolian companions. And just to make doubly clear _I have never met a Tibetan 12-year-old monk_, and if you believe I have then I can call my creative friend with the rusty toolbox to _correct _that little discrepancy in your brain..."

"Of...of course, sir," the policeman stammered, licking his lips, "but what's that got to do with..."

"Sounds like a lot of work, doesn't it? Stop a crazy renegade, pack yer bags and find a magical radioactive Dalai Lama," Volkov smirked, turning back to his vantage point, "they're going to be too distracted with big, important things like those to think about all the annoying, tedious things they're usually up to...like making sure we're doing what they want us to do. That's good news for my friends from across the border, but probably not such good news for a few of my _other_friends I could mention..." He spoke the last part a bit more loudly and peeked down at the errand boy who had been at the same spot yesterday. The boy peeked up, nodded, and walked away with message understood in utmost seriousness. Volkov distracted the policeman cryptically, "don't worry, that wasn't a fiendish riddle for you to solve, kid."

"But who's this 'crazy renegade' they're trying to stop from leaving?" the collaborator wondered. Volkov was surprised to find he wasn't angered by the obvious question, just curious. He looked the boy up and down carefully.

"I don't..._think_you're new..." Volkov remarked. A screech of tires piqued Volkov's interest, and he leaned aside on one arm to get a better view, "maybe this will jog yer memory."

An armoured car burst out from a side street and swerved around the soldiers taking up position in the street (and those that the car couldn't avoid jumped out of the way of their own volition). Any attempt to block the vehicle was met with wild and unpredictable swings. A jet of mud showered another group of soldiers as the Chiyoda accelerated into the barrier, attempting to burst through the weakest point of the blockade, which happened to be the agitated merchant's stall. The car didn't slow down, even when it unleashed an explosion of vegetables that rained across the street. The merchant dropped to his knees and cried an anguished scream.

"MY...CABBAGES!"

Another, considerably sturdier, barrier had been erected further down the street, but the car turned suddenly, tipping at a 45 degree angle, and disappeared into a narrow side-street, leaving a trail of debris and a legion of bruised egos behind it. Volkov laughed heartily and gave a mock salute with his cigarette hand, "Godspeed, you insane narcissistic psychopath."

* * *

The Chiyoda tore through concentrations of crates and laundry as it ran down the narrow alley at high speed. For a while the driver couldn't see for the bedspread pinned to the front of the car by splinters, but handily another stack of crates shredded it enough to give him vision again. He wasn't very encouraged by what he saw. He mumbled "uh...sir?" 

"Do not stop," Zuko ordered bluntly, eyes fixated on the car's path.

"'Do Not Stop'?" Gakki tremblingly padded his stinging forehead with a napkin and repeated the intoned command, "why 'Do Not Stop'!?"

"Not sure if he's ordering me or the fence, son," the driver considered, peeking towards the door every so often and weighing his chances of making it. A loud metallic crunch convinced him otherwise.

"I recall a proverb regarding a king ordering back the tides that seems rather fitting right about now," Iroh blithely smoked his pipe in spite of the car hurtling potentially towards its doom. If he was going to die, he considered, he might as well make himself comfortable.

"No matter what happens," Zuko repeated fiercely, "_do not stop!_"

"Uh...if what happens is really, really bad, I'd rather prefer that we stopped," Gakki shuddered partially from the things the Chiyoda was running over, but mostly from fear, "_please!?_"

"I'd be more than happy to oblige, Hibiki," the driver turned back and beamed, pressing down energetically on the malfunctioning brakes, "but I'm a-thinking our ride's decided for us!"

"Oh bother..." Gakki pouted, hunkered down over the wireless set and braced himself.

* * *

There may have been fewer people on the street in this section, but an exploding fence and a hurtling chunk of metal shrieking as it skidded to its side and throttled down the street was sufficient to bring all activity to a shuddering halt. The civilians could do this, the Unit was much relieved to discover, because there weren't many soldiers in this part of town. Bits of wood and cloth fell off and left a trail of flotsam in the car's wake, and their relief cleared further when the way ahead looked only lightly guarded by a small barrier ahead. 

"Rumbling..." Iroh mentioned out of curiosity. Not as heavily involved as the others, he had been listening carefully to what was happening around him, and there was an unmistakable rumbling sound impinging on a corner of his hearing. Gravel was being crushed, and the road sank just ahead, as two massive metal behemoths rolled from either side of the street at the barrier ahead. The car's way was blocked by two Chi-Ha Medium Tanks, and the driver was quick to put his foot down on his...luckily working...brake pedal, realising that one didn't play chicken with a medium tank.

The Chi-Ha's turrets swiveled ominously in the Chiyoda's direction and their tracks tore up the mud as they turned to roll slowly down the street, soldiers advancing alongside. The Chiyoda was punted into reverse and shuddered backwards as fast as it could. Zuko looked back through the rear porthole to guide the vehicle, and his eyes widened. "_Stop!_" he commanded, seeing two more Chi-Has trundle heavily to the car's rear and turn towards them. Their path was completely blocked from both ends.

"What are yer orders, sir?" the driver was at a loss as to what to do. They couldn't fire on fellow Japanese, and even if they could they'd be blown sky-high by four separate 57mm cannons. All eyes were on Zuko, while Zuko's were fleeting angrily from one window to the next. While the others were as one in thinking that giving up was the only course left, the possibility never entered Zuko's consciousness. He had a destiny to keep. The driver asked again, "sir!? Yer orders!?"

Zuko waited for destiny to reveal itself.

A mighty crash of wood and glass broke the net closing on them, and from a massive hole in the street where a tobacconists used to be, a Nissan truck pushed through. The crew recovered from their surprise as the dust settled, and when the cloud of debris subsided enough for Zuko to see Jee smirking at him from the truck's passenger seat, Zuko smirked back. The soldiers and tanks sped up to close the gap, but the truck quickly high-tailed into reverse, and the Chiyoda rapidly followed, busting a wooden beam to nip through the gap just as the Chi-Has met in the middle.

* * *

"New orders?" the commander of the unit awaiting Zuko's next move grabbed the coded message the boy soldier was holding and looked it over. The officer blinked, "well, it's as good as everything else we've tried..."

* * *

Haru swept another mound of debris into the corner of the shop. The mound had built up into what could technically be called a small rubbish tip, as the imposition of martial law meant that they couldn't dare to dump any of it outside without being shot at. He pounded down on the pile to make it smaller, sending a fresh burst of pain up his bruised arm. His anger had boiled up to a point where he felt that if he didn't hit something he was bound to explode, and yet he couldn't even do that without causing himself pain. He had left frustrated behind long ago and was rapidly approaching 'vengeful'. 

A quick glance at his mother made him remember himself. If the sight didn't sate his anger, it at least focused the rage into something productive. His mother had come out the worse for wear for the incident, and couldn't muster the energy to tidy up anything more than the odd empty mug or broken incense stick. Instead she'd taken to sitting behind the counter with a sullen look on her face.

Haru put the broom to one side and came to kneel next to his mother, looking her in the eye and grabbing hold of her unresponsive hand. She didn't respond at first, and continued staring into space for some moments until Haru's eyes eventually implored her to pay attention. The moment their eyes met, a silent conversation started. They were still for the duration, and never said a word, but in the air drifted hazy wafts of meaning about what he had just done, why he had done it, what she meant to him, what he meant to her, what his father meant to both of them, and how they could move beyond it all. A decision was reached and Haru's mother swallowed a sob and gave a weak smile, clasping Haru's hand strongly and keeping it clasped for as long as possible in the quiet realisation that it might be the last time she could. Haru nodded and smiled softly in return.

A movement outside drew his attention away. Haru stood up and ran to the doorway, watching the soldiers outside as they upped position and started withdrawing in a great hurry. He couldn't say he'd ever seen the like, and since he was fairly certain the Russians weren't coming, his puzzlement only grew.

"Where are they going?" he asked aloud as the Japanese seemed to disappear entirely. A second later he was reeling back against the floor in surprise as a careering dustbin of an armoured car and a truck with no less than three meters of fencing lodged amongst its grill hurtled past the broken door with no warning.

Haru sat back on all fours and blinked. The weirdness just never stopped.

* * *

Car and truck went their separate ways, and the Chiyoda throttled down the city's main street once again after the series of detours. Zuko warned, "be on the lookout. They're bound to have more road blocks down this way." 

"Sir?" the gunner poked his head down to comment, "I don't see any road blocks."

Zuko raised an eyebrow, remarking to himself "the street's too wide to pull off that trick with the tanks again. Check again."

"I _have_checked again, sir!" the gunner asserted, "there's _nothing_!"

"Maybe the good Colonel was so impressed with your resolve that he decided to let you leave?" Iroh smiled, "warrior's honour and all that nonsense?"

"I'm afraid not, sir..." Gakki drew away from the wireless set to report the bad news coming through.

* * *

Hundreds of troops waited at the southern end of town, blocking every exit in depth with troops, arms and armour. Every soldier from every street south of Zuko's position had been pulled back for a concentrated stand at the point the unit had to pass through to leave. There was no swerving past this roadblock.

* * *

"That's put a spanner in the strategy, hasn't it?" the driver stated annoyingly. He pulled back on the accelerator. Might as well take one's time to drive into house arrest. 

The feeling that the jig was up, only recently conquered, now returned with full force. As everyone else was becoming accustomed to the inevitability of imprisonment, Zuko's mind worked furiously. Their way out had been blocked, but on the other hand they _knew_their way out had been blocked. This robbed Zhao of his surprise, so they had a chance to twist this in their favour. Except he couldn't think of a single way how beyond turning back the way they came, which wasn't a plan at all.

Gakki had never once believed they'd get out of here in one piece, and now the reality of that inevitability had sunk in he found himself inexplicably reacting against it. He could see Zuko still thinking he could get out of this situation like he got out of situations before. Gakki knew that the Kwantung Army wasn't just 'another situation' to resolve, and yet this didn't affect Zuko in the slightest. The scarred teenager, Gakki realised, couldn't see the distinction between one obstacle and another. The Mongolian border had been an obstacle, the Kwantung Army is an obstacle, _he _was an obstacle, but Zuko never once doubted they could be overcome. It was a manic focus beyond simply what the Qoghusula was capable of. He_knew _what the Qoghusula was capable of, but that wasn't what motivated Major Hinaga. Try as hard as he could deny it, he was incredibly curious as to what it was that drove him, what he would go to the ends of the Earth for. He found an intense need to be a part of it, and for that...he needed to put things right.

"Turn into that alley!" Gakki insisted, shunting Zuko out of his thoughts. He looked at the technician in rage.

"Excuse me, _Lieutenant_?" Zuko warned. He became even more enraged when he saw that Hibiki Gakki wasn't even looking up at him, but instead was intently focused on his wireless set, fiddling.

"We need to be out of sight, sir!" Gakki listened and flicked switches, "it's important, sir!"

Zuko was close to tearing the technician away from the wireless, until it gradually dawned on him that Gakki had an _idea_. Zuko had experience enough with Gakki to know that once he set his mind to something, he damn well followed through on it. He had one opportunity to make up for his treachery, so Zuko might as well grant it to him.

"Driver! Do as he says!" Zuko ordered.

The driver had to look around to check that it was _Major Hinaga _who was following someone else's suggestion, but once he double-checked he quickly complied, "yes, sir!"

The Chiyoda disappeared into the first side-alley it came across, and found some ready camouflage in the form of the cascades of laundry that fell on top of it. The car halted before a very solid fence, and thankfully had no need to shunt straight through it, as their presence in the neighbourhood was enough to prompt a light torrent of pots, pans and verbal abuse from the upset Chinese housewives whose drying clothes the car had just ruined. The gunner decided to take it upon himself, as a friendly, respectful and upstanding representative of the Japanese Empire, to assuage the Manchukuoan subjects' concerns. He opened the top hatch, pushed aside an enormous pair of underpants, smiled and waved.

"No cause for alarm! We will be gone in just a minute!" the gunner spoke in polite Mandarin, before shutting the hatch and hunkering over the rest of the Unit, who were enraptured by Gakki's rapid morse-tapping, and switching to extremely nervous Japanese, "we're gonna be gone in just a minute, aren't we?"

"Shhh!" Gakki seethed, concentrating hard over the painful gash on his forehead, the stuffiness of the armoured car, and the eyes of his hostile commanding officer boring into the back of his brain. He sweated, but persevered, not missing a beat of the morse code. Even when he got to the end, he didn't dare relax, and instead sat poised over his wireless set with wild-eyed alertness.

"What did you tell them?" Zuko asked quietly, afraid that any loud sound would break whatever spell Gakki was under.

"I gave them new orders. 'Hinaga's Unit attempting to evade blockade via backtracking north. All units follow and pursue,'" Gakki reported, putting up his left wrist to look at the time on his watch, "and given the typical response time for Kokami's men, they should be heading past right abooouuut...now-ish."

The technician's pronouncement was accompanied by a loud rumbling, which unnerved the blinded occupants of the dark and hidden armoured car, but no sooner had it appeared when it subsided, and rolled past them into the distance. As the great armoured noise shrank, the sighs of relief grew.

"I shudder to think of what all this rattling about is doing to my poor bones," complained Iroh.

"Driver! Back us out!" Zuko ordered, being careful to add "_slowly_."

"Goes without saying, sir!" the driver responded, putting the gears into reverse and being careful not to jinx their last chance for freedom. All eyes were on the windows, and as the car backed out of the alleyway the long street came into view, with the retreating blots of the Kwantung Army on one side and open country on the other. The Chiyoda managed to make it to the middle of the road unmolested, and the driver felt confident enough to ask "permission to step on it, sir?"

"By all means," Zuko answered, nearly toppling over from the speed the car throttled into. The final stretch of road before the railway tracks was completely devoid of troops, and some of the Chinese locals rushed inside their homes had ventured out to see what was going on. Watching the Chiyoda slip past its Japanese pursuers brought some out into cheering as the armoured car triumphantly surged down the long, muddy road to freedom. They weren't too sure what they were cheering_for_, but anyone making a fool out of the Japanese was reason enough to celebrate. The feeling of triumph infected the soldiers inside and led them to believe that maybe they'd live through this after all. Zuko, in complete contrast, was grimacing. He didn't feel he deserved this ill-founded applause. Iroh chuckled knowingly...it was nice to entertain people's delusions while they lasted.

A trio of trucks skidded out from the side streets one after another, far ahead of them, and drove in the same direction the Chiyoda was heading. The Kwantung Army had been so single-mindedly determined to stop Zuko that the trucks had slipped past and were now well ahead of them. The car left behind the high street and became flanked with sparser, industrial-size warehouses as they neared the tracks, and as the first of the trucks rumbled across the railway their chase seemed as good as over.

"Wait...what's...?" Gakki became distracted by a weird sound from his headphones: a Morse signal that was in no code-book he ever memorised. Only Zuko noticed the technician's pause, and from that moment he knew getting out of Hailar couldn't possibly be that easy. The other two active soldiers were still focused expectantly on the last truck bouncing over the railway crossing.

Their smiles faded as a shadow fell across their faces.

* * *

"_Brake!_" commanded the officer on watch, and the train driver pulled back hard on a lever, bringing the behemoth to a juddering halt.

* * *

The armoured train loomed far in the distance, but its black presence already weighed on the small, flimsy, battered and rusty armoured car that rattled speedily towards the grim, heavy, heavily-armed monster that blocked their path. 

A flurry of whizzes and beeps on the wireless set snapped Gakki to attention, listening carefully to the sounds in his headphones. "They're onto us!" the technician Hibiki reported, busily gathering more info before the whirrs and buzzes were rudely snapped short by a slate, steady, drilling sound over the airwaves, "aaand...they've jammed us." Gakki thwacked his headphones against the wireless in frustration. He settled into a manic funk, burying his head into his desk, "they're switching to landlines. I'm useless now..."

In the midst of this manic dread, Iroh was an ocean of calm. Having anticipated this turn of events, he'd settled into looking out the nearest porthole at the passing scenery. On the approach to the tracks the warehouses faded away on the side bordering the river, and the peaceful, sun-lit blue waters of the river gave him time to ponder and reflect. He remembered aloud, "it's a shame we don't go into battle on horseback anymore. I remember as a young man in the cavalry, charging down a valley a lot like this. The Russians...this was 1905...the Russians had set up an artillery position on one side of the river, and we almost threatened to repeat the Charge of the Light Brigade until the captain ordered us to ford the river and go down the other side. Didn't even bother to attack them, we just went right past them. Must have left those poor soldiers bemused. I remember the beautiful colours of the river, they were a lot like the river here now..."

"Uncle, you couldn't have picked a..." Zuko began to snap, when an idea snapped instead. He ordered the driver hurriedly, "go left!"

The driver did a double-take and protested, "there isn't a left!"

"_Left! Damn it!_" Zuko snarled harshly enough to compel the driver to yank down on his steering wheel. The car's inhabitants held in their collective stomachs as the car lurched aside and rumbled down the river bank at top speed. It crashed into the water, sending up a jet of water as it powered across the shallow river bank and up the other side.

* * *

"Reverse! Full speed!" came the call from the observation port, at seeing their prey get the better of them.

* * *

"_Full reverse!_" screamed the officer in the cockpit, and at his command levers were pulled, muscles tensed and three soot-covered young boys worked their hardest to keep the boiler fed with coal and their faces free from bruises.

* * *

Wheels churned and groaned, sparking as they revolved on the tracks trying to get purchase. Slowly, powerfully, the beast moved.

* * *

Iroh attempted another puff from his pipe, only to find its contents had been scattered across the length of the cabin. He ruminated, "maybe I should keep my observations to myself, next time." 

The crew was more cautious now, despite their second chance. They'd been burnt by false hope once already, and didn't need to be skewed by another upset. They barreled down a narrow dirt track next to the railway lines, rattling with renewed vigour now that their path was no longer well-trodden. The fence of the massive Kwantung Army base blurred past ominously, and they could catch glimpses of soldiers running like men possessed to organise their capture. The trucks had gotten out, and that was a load off their minds. Now they only needed to worry about themselves.

"If we can get over that there next railway crossing, we can burn on south an' meet up with th' rest'a th' team!" the driver opened his suggestion to the group. The fence whizzed past out of view, and they began to work hard putting distance between themselves and the Colonel.

"I think those nice gentlemen racing in at 9 o' clock might disagree with that," the gunner reported, and a quick glance to the left confirmed that a trio of armoured cars far shinier than theirs had crossed the river themselves and were intersecting the field alongside the track, attempting to reach the road ahead and cut them off from the railway crossing.

"And that lovely Colonel's favourite toy looks like it wants a say in the issue, too," Iroh reported, looking out a rear porthole and seeing the armoured train backing up the way it just came back across the river, bypassing the base and churning its way towards them. The plan appeared to be to outflank them, and the plan was obviously working.

"In that case, all we got is Plan B," the driver smirked as he shunted the car left, off the path and into the field without taking his foot off the accelerator.

"What the hell are you playing at!?" Zuko shouted at the impertinent driver, recovering himself only to be knocked aside when the car made a full 180 to the right.

"Uh, if this ends up killing us all, I deeply apologise," the driver warned, putting his foot down and bracing himself.

* * *

The officer on watch poked his head out of the cockpit to witness the trap being sprung, but instead was treated to the sight of a half-broken armoured car acting like it was in the Monaco Grand Prix. As the Chiyoda ran up the side of the track and launched itself right across the front of the steel-wrought monster bearing down on it, there wasn't anything the officer could do except helplessly toot the train whistle, half-stunned and half-impressed at the driver's utter insanity.

* * *

The car thudded loudly against the ground and continued speeding away from the track and up the valley-side. Everyone inside prayed to those invisible forces that drove the universe that whatever sounded like it got smashed off when the Chiyoda landed wasn't anything important. 

"I'll take that apology under advisement," Zuko muttered, deeply aware that they weren't out of the woods yet as they ran up the slope of the valley towards the road that hugged its length. Two armoured cars had circled around from the north and gave chase as soon as the Chiyoda reached the road and skidded south.

After the hair-raising antics of the last danger-filled half-hour, a straightforward car chase was pleasantly familiar. Of course, they hadn't usually shredded the car's suspension before embarking on one, but after two years' experience a bog-standard car chase was practically text-book. Zuko peered down the long and winding road for an advantage and quickly found it, "we'll lose them in those rocks ahead."

"Got it, sir!" the driver responded happily. Moving down the lush river valley led them back into well-worn desert territory, and well-worn desert territory meant well-worn rocky outcrops that only had roads through them because it was more expensive to build around them. Such a rocky outcrop was a quarter-mile ahead of them and looked like it could provide a means of eluding pursuers that the Unit had perfected by now. One had to learn these kinds of tricks so as not to be captured by Communists, or worse.

The car reached the outcrop and pierced the gap between two large rocks. The way ahead seemed clear.

Of course, things could never be that easy.

A tank on one side, a tank on the other. Two Type 95 Ha-Go Light Tanks rolled into sight from their hiding places and blocked the entire road with their mass. Kwantung Army troops bled off the sides and ran to plug the gaps while the tanks trained their turrets on the car. The two-dozen soldiers thudded to position and made a line across the road, aiming and cocking their rifles like an execution squad.

The car thundered up a cloud of dust as it braked to a halt before the troops, and a quick glance behind confirmed their worst fears. The gleaming, silver armoured cars following them huddled together and blocked the passageway from behind, offloading their complement of soldiers and taking aim in that same execution stance. A loud, assertive voice from the commander of the squad certified that there was no last-chance miracle to get them out of things this time, "_you are completely surrounded. Please, step out of the vehicle._"

The crew was too stunned to respond to the command. After a beat they all looked to Zuko, who looked like he was about to tear off a corner of the driver's seat in anger. His breath harshened and quickened, nostrils flaring and eyes scowling. It wasn't the prospect of imprisonment that angered him. No, what angered him was that his whole life's purpose was heading south, and this vermin was _in the way_. He battered the inside of the hull so hard that it left a dent in the metalwork. Without another word, he tore the door open and stepped out. The rest of the crew sagged and sighed, and prepared to step out themselves. Gakki planted his forehead in his hand, and was momentarily shocked to find blood smeared over his palm. He'd been so single-mindedly determined to help his commander that he had completely forgotten the wound on his forehead. He fashioned a rudimentary cloth and headed out behind the others.

Zuko's scarred glare, and the sheer physical presence of his rage, was enough to make the soldiers training rifles on him to aim a little more assertively, as if unsure whether bullets would actually stop him. While his men held their hands over their heads, Zuko resolutely refused to act like this was a surrender. Whether they shot him or not, he _was _going to get through this roadblock and south towards his future. Iroh didn't act like this was a surrender either, but for the altogether more banal reason that he'd really done nothing technically _wrong_.

"Well!?" Zuko challenged, "are you going to shoot me or stand aside!?"

"Does the choice need to be that stark?" a self-assured voice spoke from behind the soldiers next to the tanks. Walking through a gap in the line, Colonel Zhao Kokami stepped forward and stood with hands firmly clasped behind his back, plainly feeling he had nothing to fear. Zuko gritted his teeth and laid has hand on his pistol holster, firmly determined to wipe that belief off his smug, victorious face. Zhao remarked through his snake-like grin, "hello again, Major. You're a hard man to get a hold of."

"You can't hold me forever, Zhao!" Zuko spat, "I'm leaving, whether you like it or not!"

"Yes, you have shown a peculiar knack for getting out of sticky situations. I can't say I expected you to get this far, but then you might say I have a rather naive appreciation of the _competence_ of _my own men..._" Zhao shot a contemptuous look at his officer confidant, who couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze, fully realising that he was at the mercy of a brutal, sadistic megalomaniac. Zhao's smile and treacherous warmth returned a second later, and he confided, "still, one doesn't get to the position I have without making contingencies. And thanks to a recent discovery of mine I believe my position is due for a sharp upward revision."

"You'll never get your hands on the Qoghusula!" Zuko was too angry to keep the cats in the bag any longer, "I'll find him first and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

This outburst from Zuko pleasingly confirmed Zhao's suspicions, but also gave him pause for thought. A sudden and radical re-appraisal of the situation presented itself to the ambitious Colonel, and the cogs turned in his mind. He laughed out loud at the new idea that popped into his head, and used this outpouring to his advantage, "oh, this is just a terrible, _terrible_misunderstanding! I wasn't trying to_capture _you, I just wanted to catch you before you left town and wish you luck on your mission! After all..." Zhao stepped forward from the soldier's line with arms outstretched, smiling the kind of smile that traps flies, "it would be abandoning my duties as a host to let you go without saying goodbye..."

Zuko pulled his pistol halfway out of his holster, warning Zhao off with his tight-lipped scowl. Iroh rushed forward and laid both his hands on Zuko's arm, trying to keep him from doing something that might end up killing him. The soldiers' aims tightened, and a brief flicker of genuine, life-endangered fear crossed Zhao's face as he looked down at the pistol, certain at that moment that even if he managed to get away from here alive, someday, somehow, this boy was going to kill him. He chuckled away his concerns and looked back up at Zuko's scowl.

"Annnd...now I've had the opportunity, I shall issue my fondest farewells and speed you on your journey," Zhao grinned, clicking his fingers and pointing his thumb back at his forces, who took the cue to lower their weapons and withdraw behind the tanks. The Ha Gos rumbled into reverse and backed into the rocks, clearing the way south. Zhao stood to one side and stood commandingly again, with his hands clasped in that way commanding officers are apparently meant to do. He offered, "may Amaterasu's light guide you, Major Hinaga."

Zuko wasn't sure what to make of this. He was sure it had to be a trap somehow, it was as clear as day, and in any other frame of mind he might have questioned the Colonel's endearments and act contrary to his wishes to see what would happen, but right now he had a job to do and he didn't care that his way was only cleared on a whim. Only that it was cleared. In return, Zuko offered no acknowledgements, no 'thank you, sir's, no bowing or saluting or anything to recognise that he was being paid a favour by a superior officer. He simply holstered his pistol and marched straight back inside the Chiyoda without a second glance. The other members of the Unit, looking confusedly between Zuko and the troops, headed back inside in turn and prepared to leave. Only Iroh paused at the door and looked behind, sharing a knowing, unsmiling look with Zhao. The Colonel didn't bother to smile back. They at least had enough respect to know the other wasn't an idiot. The door shut tight and the Chiyoda skidded to a running start, leaving the Kwantung Army behind at the rocky pass.

* * *

"What's he playing at?" Zuko muttered, no happier now even though he had managed to escape Hailar. Zhao had allowed him to leave, making all the effort and brushes with death to escape his clutches a pointless waste of time. And time was the last thing he could afford to waste. By now he had formed a deep, hand-shaped groove in the metal surface bracing the chair. 

"I believe I have a good idea what he's 'playing at,'" Iroh remarked. His comment was tinged with deep concern over Zuko's attitude. The boy looked like his head was about to explode. He attempted to use his uncle-related charms to calm the scarred lad, "are you fine, Zuko?"

"Once we meet up with the trucks, we'll need to assess our damage and our next destination," Zuko ignored Iroh's question and stared menacingly at the road, "no more than fifteen minutes, tops. We've wasted too much time as it is."

That appeared to shut Iroh up, and the rolling road gave Zuko time to look around and appraise the situation. It was then that he noticed the utterly exhausted Gakki, pressing a reddening cloth against his head and rocking back and forth, heavily shaken by the day's events. No matter what the man did to worsen their situation, he had worked himself to death getting them out of it, and a trace of concern gnawed at Zuko. He sighed to himself.

"Better get that wound looked at by the medic while you're at it," Zuko ordered his technician stiltedly, trying to be as concerned as he could be while still maintaining his commanding officer's distance. He complemented, "you did well out there. Good work."

Gakki looked up tiredly, recognising that it was a rare day for Zuko to show his appreciation, and nodded his thanks. Zuko took that as being as good as a 'yes, sir,' and concentrated on the task at hand. Iroh smiled to himself. The kid's alright, he thought. He might have built up a towering mountain of bitterness and rage over himself, but deep down, Iroh knew, deep down, the kid's alright.

* * *

Zhao watched Zuko leave, and with the Unit still in sight he ordered his confidant, "watch him like a hawk. Keep me updated on his every move. Have every post you can contact report his whereabouts directly to me." 

"Yes, sir," the officer confirmed unhesitantly, stepping back to jab a finger at the armoured cars, "AC17-4! AC17-11! Get after him! Keep your distance! Report to the nearest station once you've found out where he's headed!"

"How far away is 119th Infantry?" Zhao asked as the armoured cars roared into life and sped off after Hinaga's Unit.

"It...should be here in about forty-five minutes, sir," the Major confirmed, caught by surprise by the question, which didn't seem entirely relevant.

"Good, have 17th Infantry prepped and ready for departure in thirty," Zhao began marching back to one of the tanks to take him back to Hailar, "we shall be leaving _immediately_."

"But...sir!" the Major protested, "the city's still under martial law! It's a mess after Hinaga's escape attempt! We're really just going to up and_leave_?"

Zhao paused as he laid his hand on the tank, and remained still for some moments. Suddenly, he turned and walked across to the Major, looming intimidatingly over him and asking, "is there something wrong with your hearing?"

The Major, confused, looked away from the Colonel's stern gaze and stood apologetically, "no sir, I..."

"I think I can do something about that," Zhao stated, swinging his body around and burying his fist into the side of his confidant's skull, pressing the full power of his mass into his knuckles. The officer thumped against the ground and nursed his bleeding ear, while Zhao grimly rubbed his hand and straightened himself, regaining his authoritarian dignity. He leaned down and asked pointedly, "_better?_"

"Y...yes sir..." the officer murmured, holding back the tears as he got to his feet on his own, beside himself in shame, "th...thank you, sir."

Zhao took off without a second look, and now he had firmly demonstrated the principle of never arguing with a superior, he saw fit to answer the officer's concerns, "let the 119th clean up a vermin-infested backwater at the edge of nowhere." The officer haltingly hurried over to the nearest hump-backed wireless man and wound up the telephone latched over his back to give his commander's instructions. Zhao climbed to the turret of the light tank and banged its side to get going, "I'm going to find the key to reality itself."

The tank rumbled off with Zhao atop it, busily scheduling his own date with destiny.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-08

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is probably the 'money shot' chapter, and it went through a long gestation before it got here. Zuko's 'slalom run' through the town of Hailar, and the pooled talents of Zuko's team coming together to escape the clutches of Zhao and the might of the Kwantung Army. Again, no promises on when the next chapter is arriving, but I've already started it, which makes a change.

Thanks again to AssaultSloth for being a proofreader, critic and friend, for working hard to make this chapter look better, and for suffering my fits of self-doubt with grace and good humour. I'm very lucky to have him as a writing companion.


	18. Pt 2 Ch 8: Kangde

The towns became noticeably larger every few stops, as it took those extra few seconds longer to go in one side of the urban sprawl and come out the other. Aang was mesmorised every step of the way, marvelling the blur of the trees as they raced past, imagining that the trees themselves were moving and the train standing still. Heading further into the Manchurian plains away from the Gobi desert introduced fresh new vibrant glimpses of greenery, bushes interspersed with wide open fields. There was the occasional toiling peasant, but it was on the approach to towns that the more interesting people seemed to turn up. Often roads ran alongside the railways, and small batches of people flashed by, walking to and from the towns and providing a fresh look at the mixture of Manchuria. Despite the occasional armed brigade and Kwantung Army outpost, the people had obviously learnt to adapt to the years of occupation. Instead of anger and despair, there was a consistent impression of knuckling down and getting on with their lives. No matter how bad things were, there were limits to how long you could stay angry. Those brief glimpses of people were often what Aang looked forward to, before the train disappeared into a maze of bricks and gravel.

As delightful as the views were, they were also disconcerting. Despite travelling at high speed, Aang couldn't find himself aware of really _moving _very quickly. The air inside the train was still and warm from the constant sunshine, feeling dusty and dry. The trees blasted by, and yet Aang couldn't touch them or feel their leaves. Any attempt to do so would doubtless have broken his arm clean off, but being separated by a plane of glass still gave an unsettling impression that he wasn't really travelling through the country. He was just leaning up and watching fields roll past in front of him. It was a slide-show, not a journey.

Not that Aang was about to complain. It was still shockingly new to him.

"Kid, you're gonna bend your nose out of shape pressed against the window like that," Sokka commented, rubbing the last vestiges of grainy, exhausting nap-time out of his eyes. As usually happened when he'd gone to sleep in the day-time, he'd woken up more exhausted than when he'd fallen asleep. Still, it was either that or pretending to be interested in others' conversation, and there were limits to his tolerance.

"Hey! Look!" Aang paid no attention to Sokka, as Momo sat upright on the monk's shoulder taking a keen interest in whatever it was this nice human was fascinated by, "it's a really big city coming up! Wow...it's like...it's like...we go down all these tunnels underneath the streets. You know what'd be really neat? An _entire city _underground! You'd turn into mole-men after a while! Wouldn't that be cool? Going into a city of mole-men? They'd have...like...worm kebabs and they'd use soil for wallpaper and...and..."

"Aang..." Katara looked up from her journal to interrupt, calmly but sternly, "please, get down from the window. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

Aang pried his nose away from the window pane to look around and guiltily slumped back into his seat. Momo attempted to stand on tip-toe from Aang's shoulder to keep looking, but eventually relented and snuck down into Aang's hands to be petted, embracing his role as instrument of stress relief. The train passed through another tunnel and briefly threw the carriage into darkness. The rumbling was slowing in tempo, and the rattling of the carriage was becoming gentler and easier. Aang stroked Momo distractedly and looked around, attempting to find some outlet for the nervous energy that had coursed through him unabated throughout the entire trip. Eventually he asked "sooo...where are we now?"

Katara pulled out the map to check, running a finger down the large, black and white striped line that bisected the puppet state. She reported, "this must be Harbin. It's pretty close to the Manchukuo capital, Changchun, a few miles south where the puppet Emperor lives. Pretty much everything runs through here, so it must be pretty big."

They could see it was pretty big from their own eyes. A vast sea of red, grey and black brickwork whipped past their view with no signs of stopping. They seemed to be gently sliding towards the main station, and the extended gap between arrival in the city and 'arrival' proper gave them a chance to confer.

"Hey..." Sokka realised, gaining a pervasive air of worry, "will we have to change trains here?"

Katara looked him funnily in the eye. "How should _I _know!?" she snapped, "this is the first time I've even _been _on a train, let alone been on one to Harbin..."

"Yeah, it's just...I haven't got any tickets on me..." Sokka patted himself fretfully.

"No kidding, the ticket inspector shredded 'em right in front of us," Katara stated the manifestly obvious. The sunlight punching through the windows became punctuated by pillars of shadow, which shuttered over their bodies as the train pulled into the main station.

"But...but don't you see!? Those tickets were for Beijing!" Sokka looked through Katara's satchel for something remotely incriminating, looking for a moment like his hair was about to fall out, "if we have to change trains, then what do we show the inspectors!? They'll think we're stowaways and throw us off!"

"Sokka...think about it," Katara tried to be reasonable, "if we had to show our tickets in order to change trains, then why would they shred them at the start? That inspector did note us down."

"But how will they know our tickets were for Beijing if they're shredded!?" Sokka went red with frustration, staring Katara hard in the face, "how will they know what the ticket inspector noted down!? It's not like we can take him with us!"

"Look, it's perfectly simple," Katara reasoned, "we sit here when the train stops. If it keeps going, it keeps going. If someone comes to kick us off, we ask them what we should do. What are you so wound about?"

"I'm wound up that I seem to be the only one who's _thought _about this!" Sokka crossed his arms and frowned scoldingly, "a little initiative never hurt nobody..."

The train shunted to a halt, and the other passengers in the coach sat up and made their way onto the platform. It wasn't long before they were the only ones left, and the background din of human voices, whistles and chuffing steam trains were the only sounds present. Sokka used the opportunity to rub it in, "well, we'd better hope your blind optimism pulls through, 'cuz that didn't sound like a regular platform stop."

"God, you're impossible..." Katara turned away and folded her arms in turn, but both of them had their spiel abruptly ended by an outburst of explosive chortling. The quarrelling siblings looked together at Aang, who was clamping a hand over his wide grin.

"Geheh...sorry. Real sorry," Aang gurgled, "it's just...heh... you two should do comedy, really. I bet you two argue over what colour the sky is."

Katara cracked a grin in turn and relaxed into her seat, while Sokka scowled at the boy monk suspiciously. Aang's intervention had cleared the air and defused their spat expertly. The kid seemed to have a natural knack for diplomacy.

It seemed like they would be stuck there for a while, so they made themselves comfortable. Having bones _not_ juddering to the tune of a railtrack was supremely helpful in allowing them to unwind. Sokka felt it a shame that he couldn't get any shut-eye _now_, as he needed to pay attention and figure out what they should be doing right now. Katara was more of a mind to let her eyes wander around the platform. It was more spacious than most of the station's they'd been through, and rather unique in having an actual roof. There were lots of sidings, lots of platforms, lots of people to-ing and fro-ing and lots of colourful stands taking advantage of the people to-ing and fro-ing. Her relative good mood was deflated on seeing the khaki uniforms that signified the Kwantung Army shepherding the crowd alongside the Manchukuo police in far greater numbers than they'd seen in Hailar. It stood to reason, since Harbin was one of the main centres of the Japanese occupation and the authorities felt obliged to make their presence that much more overt. Still, after the run-in with the Kempeitai, she felt she'd graduated from irrational hatred to a rather more _rational _hatred that knew how to pick its battles. The Japanese had no idea that the agent of their destruction was right under their noses, and that put Katara in an extra good mood.

"Ah! Here comes the ticket inspector!" Sokka exclaimed aloud to attract the others' attention, to little avail. The old man shut the far carriage door behind him and suffered through a mean-sounding coughing fit before brushing it off and opening another door onto the platform without giving the group even a cursory glance. Sokka kept a straight face while watching him leave, "annnd there goes the ticket inspector. Facts don't seem to be bearing you out too much, sister."

Katara paid no heed and looked around the platform some more, taking in the architecture. It was cheap and brutal, with grey pillars and corrugated ceilings that didn't adopt even a pretence of aesthetic taste. The locals and the authorities had taken to adding their own decorations, including graffiti, advertisements, public announcements, wanted posters...

"Uh...guys..." Katara's stomach sank several feet into the ground, and her whole body tensed up like a bowstring. Aang, who had been in his own dream world up until now, cocked his head at Katara's unease and leaned his shoulders up to see what it was Katara was seeing out of the window. His eyes widened, and he sank back down slowly. Katara spoke quietly, afraid to take her eyes away from the face of hers staring back at her from the pillar, "we need to get out of here before we're noticed."

"It...might be a bit late for that," Sokka murmured, watching the ticket inspector conversing with a Japanese officer on the platform opposite the one Katara was looking at. The old man nodded at the officer's questions and turned to point straight at the group's carriage. The officer looked up and caught Sokka straight in the eyes, turning to wave along a gaggle of nearby troops. Aang turned and saw the Japanese soldiers, a mere half-dozen of them, tenderly approach the carriage. He carefully hid Momo in the pocket of his jacket, realising that things were going to get very complicated, very quickly.

The three tore their eyes away from the outside and looked at each other, completely lost for options. They sat bolt upright, hands resting on seats, silent and blanked in uncertainty. Eventually Katara spoke up, "so...what do we do now?"

Katara looked at Sokka, Sokka looked at Katara, Katara looked at Aang, Sokka looked at Aang, and Aang's eyes flitted between both of them. It looked like the Qoghusula had final say.

"Run."

The three bolted from their seats and ran headlong towards the nearest door, scrabbling past luggage and rubbish at careless speed. Sokka reached the door first and flung it open, about to surge through with both hands shunting him through the door-frame, only to be halted by the calm and untroubled face of another Kwantung Army officer. The dignified, slightly balding commander stood on the other side of the door with a piece of paper in hand, comparing with interest the picture on the page and the man it depicted.

"This 'Hibiki' really is a wonderful artist," the officer smiled at the Mongolian and spoke in deep, too-polite Mandarin, "he captures your slack-jawed yokeldom to a tee."

Sokka looked down at the piece of paper, then up at the officer, acting completely caught out. He paused in paralysis, feeling utterly trapped and a complete fool, until instinct kicked in and the militiaman pushed against the door-frame, propelling his head straight into the officer's face. The Japanese man fell like a sack of potatoes, and Sokka immediately took advantage by bounding over the officer's body and sprinting down the carriage, provoking cries and yelps from the soldiers outside.

Katara followed, and Aang looked down guiltily as he jumped over, yelling loudly enough for everyone to hear "_sorry!_"

Sokka rolled his rifle off of his shoulder and used the butt to batter in door after door. The Japanese attempted to cut the trio off, but the three were always just ahead, as doors were nothing to a man possessed. Being smaller and flightier, Aang had less need to concentrate on getting through the narrow confines of first-class, and noticed the enlarged and bulging nets of luggage racks overhead being held up by rather precariously by strong, elastic lengths of string. Katara's violent tug on his hand snapped him out of his idle observations and pulled him through the next doorway just as he felt a cold set of fingers drag down and off his ankle. He hadn't time to _think_.

"Get to the platform! Get to the platform! Get to the platform!" Sokka urged strongly, busting through another door and tunnelling down the middle row of the cushioned first-class seats that crowded the front-most carriage. With a well-aimed kick he burst through the last door and was faced with a wall of metal at the rear of the engine's coal bin. "Get to th-! Oh... Should have seen that coming."

"_Sokka!_" Katara needled, dragging the militiaman's attention to the cavalcade of cocking rifles prickling out like spines of a porcupine from the other end of the carriage. Amongst them was the steady and unwavering presence of the supremely cheesed off commanding officer.

The senior soldier rubbed his reddened jaw fumingly and stressed in guttural tones "_don't...move...a muscle._"

The three stood stock still, but the puncturing of the officer's air of invincibility thanks to Sokka's headbutt accorded them a respite from sheer terror that allowed them to think furiously of a way out. Aang's eyes flitted to his left, and quick as a flash his hand shot out a small furry thing to quickly bite through a piece of string, which stretched from a rope-tie attached to the end of the carriage. He hid the creature in his jacket as soon as the job was done and re-assumed his frozen position.

The officer did a small double-take to make sure the kid _had _moved, and then jabbed his gloved finger in the monk's direction, protesting in a disconcerted whine "boy, were you even listening to what I just told you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Aang stated in straight-faced innocence. Considering he used an intermediary he was, technically, correct. The officer raised an eyebrow, but the sound of breaking rope derailed his train of thought. He turned to the direction of the sound and promptly met a facefull of suitcase.

"_C'mon!_" Sokka yelled, curtailing towards the open carriage door. The others followed suit as the Japanese soldiers tried ineffectually to untangle themselves from the heap of men and luggage that now heaved down the length of the carriage. Sokka ran out into the space between the carriage and the coal bin, only to run back in again when a squad of Kwantung Army men that stood prone on the edge of the platform raised their weaponry at him. He shoved the others back and slammed the door shut, shouting "_other way! Other way!_"

The group stumbled over the legs, backs and heads of their hapless pursuers and burst through a door halfway down the carriage, catching the soldiers clustered around the gap between the coach and the engine by surprise. Katara yanked Aang out of the train and ran after Sokka in-between the pillars. Aang made of point of looking back at the people he stepped over, calling "really! I'm _very, very _sorry!"

"Aang! Stop apologising to the people who are trying to kill you!" Sokka vaulted over a row of benches in the middle of the platform to lose the group's pursuers, and as the others jumped over behind him the militiaman took his bearings to try to find a way out of this evolving trap. There were several platforms that spoked to the north and to the south from two wide stone promenades that bisected the width of the vaulted station. A metal bridge linked the two promenades, passing across the two rail tracks that ran straight through the middle of the station. All the other tracks ended at the promenades, and Sokka was eminently surprised to find that their own train was resting in the central express track. "Well what do you know?" he remarked, "looks like you were right after all, Katara."

"_Not now!_" Katara was wondering if she was the only one who was taking all this seriously. The Japanese had been caught in a state of confusion, as many had decided that fishing out their commander was more important than catching their quarry. But the puzzlement of these trained soldiers didn't last very long as the children darted to the central promenade, flinching together when a corner of the noticeboard they were running behind was shot off.

The lieutenant ran to the centre for a clearer shot with his pistol, but before he could let off another shot he found his finger was only squeezing thin air and a furious, heavily bruised commanding officer was yelling in his face, "what are you _doing_!? They're supposed to be taken alive!"

"Only one of them _needs _to be taken alive, sir..." the junior officer reasoned. The senior officer quietly tapped his foot for a more thorough explanation, and his foul expression brought out more mewing rationalisations from the questioned man, "which...means...Colonel Hiroto...sir...if we shoot at them, we have a 2-in-3 chance of hitting someone we're allowed to hit!"

"_I_ say who's _'allowed'_ to shoot whom, you imbecile!" Colonel Hiroto roundly pistol-whipped the poor soldier. While he stood back to allow the wounded man to stumble back against the nearest pillar and recover, the commander found himself rubbing his sore face with his sore hand and coming to the realisation that unintentionally killing the lot of them didn't sound terribly objectionable right then. Hiroto laid his hand on his sheathed sword thoughtfully and admitted to his bludgeoned counterpart, "on the other hand, that's some fairly good initiative you've demonstrated there. Very well..._men! Use of lethal force is authorised!_"

Soldiers regrouped and refocused, rifles were loaded, and the hunt was on.

* * *

"South to Harbin! Best possible speed!" Zhao commanded as he breezed into the lush and well-equipped command centre on the armoured train. His gaggle of advisers and assistant commanders that clustered like flies around him changed faces on a regular basis based on his whims, so from his perspective there wasn't much point calling anyone specific by name. He simply trusted them to do their jobs or else risk another change of faces. The soldiers and technicians who manned the numerous posts in the command centre stood to attention as Zhao entered, then quickly settled back down to carry out the orders of their commanding officer.

"Not all of the units have assembled yet, sir," one of his nameless advisers piped up, "if we leave immediately we may lose divisional cohesion."

"That wasn't an invitation for discussion, Captain," Zhao turned and dumped himself into an empty seat next to the wireless wall. In the process he faced away and wilfully ignored the Staff Sergeant who had emerged from his personal office down the carriage looking extremely eager to tell the Colonel something. Zhao's attitude made him stay his tongue. The Captain who had voiced his concerns demonstrated similar acquiescence.

"Apologies, sir," the Captain placed in charge of the train's operations bowed reverentially, "south to Harbin, full speed, sir."

"Any news on Zuko?" Zhao asked the technician manning one of the many numerous communications devices fitted into the carriage. The command centre had been converted from a drawing room that used to reside in a first-class express train and still contained many of the trappings like wooden-panelled walls, flowery carpeted floors, cushioned wooden chairs and proper light fittings hanging from the ceiling. A large chunk had been gutted for military use, but Zhao had been sure to abuse his position as Colonel to provide himself with the most comfortable war room going.

"The first units have reported back. Major Hinaga's Unit is heading due south, around the edge of the Gobi desert," the young, firm-jawed, entirely un-spectacled communications officer reported, "they appear to be ignoring Harbin and trying to cut the distance somewhere west of Mukden. The next report is expected within the hour, sir."

"Very well..." Zhao gave himself a moment to think. The desk he was resting his elbow on began to shudder as the train pulled out of the base.

The Staff Sergeant was wondering if this was an opportunity to impart his extremely important news. Deciding to dare it, he cleared his throat, "um...sir..."

"Not now, Sergeant," Zhao waved off the interrupting soldier and took a notepad out his pocket. As he began scribbling a message in pencil he addressed another one of his nameless advisers, "how is the redeployment proceeding, Major?"

"Advance units from 9th and 14th brigades have secured the passageway to the south-east, and the bulk of the Division is on the move by road and rail," one of the advisers guessed that it was him that Zhao was asking, "6th and 8th brigades are holding up the rear until 119th arrives to relieve them, although progress is being hindered by logistical indecision. Standing orders are deployment to Harbin, but the short notice given for this deployment is going to hinder our capacity for movement. Harbin wasn't expecting an entire extra division."

"Nor should it, because it's not getting an entire extra division," Zhao gave a smug little smile as he looked up from his notebook, "the 9th and 14th brigades will remain in Harbin, while the rest of 17th Infantry will deploy along the routes leading south-west to Mukden and Beijing."

"We will have to prioritise which approaches to deploy across, sir," the same Major reminded, "the 17th doesn't have the capacity to cover every point of access."

"That will not be an issue for much longer," the Colonel tore the page he was writing on out of the notebook and stood up. As he was walking across the width of the carriage to the wireless wall, the Staff Sergeant ineffectually attempted to get his commanding officer's attention.

"Sir...it's really rather important..." the sergeant mewed quietly as Zhao paid him no heed, handing his torn piece of paper to the technician manning the station.

"Transmit this message to Tokyo, code ULTRA triple-zero," Zhao ordered the waiting technician, who looked at the message and at Zhao with some trepidation.

"Triple-zero?" the technician asked, caught a bit off-guard with the implications of that code.

"Triple-zero," Zhao confirmed gruffly, slapping the communications officer on the shoulder as the soldier turned to relay the message, "and make it snappy, you hear?"

"And I assume our forces will look out for this monk and his two Mongolian friends along the route to Beijing, sir?" another Captain, in charge of maintaining command-and-control on the ground, spoke up to his commander.

"That is the _intention_, Captain," Zhao responded pointedly, "if Zuko wants to cut us off at the pass, then we need to make sure there's no 'pass' to cut us off at."

"Permission to speak candidly, sir?" the Captain asked. The other advisers made a collective unconscious step away from the man. He hadn't been under Zhao's command very long, and it showed.

To the surprise of many, Zhao actually smiled. "Nice of you to _ask _first. Unlike some people I could mention," he glowered at the assembled, then sat back down at the empty desk and relaxed himself, answering "permission granted...under advisement."

"Why are we wasting resources babysitting that treacherous piece of filth Zuko?" the Captain was clearly annoyed that his command-and-control had been tampered with in the midst of the chase, "we don't need his help finding the Qoghusula. We already have credible intelligence from the Kempeitai that they're on a train heading to Beijing via Harbin. Colonel Hiroto's 52nd Infantry is moving in to apprehend them as we speak."

"Indeed, and one can't fail to notice that Zuko couldn't possibly have known they were on a train to Beijing, being out of the Kwantung Army intelligence loop and having his hands full maintaining his own Unit. And yet he had cut off his repairs, gathered together his forces and burst out of town like the dogs of hell were snapping at his heels, before we had even told the Kempeitai we were _looking_ for anyone. Now he's heading due south to Beijing, even though _we_ received word that the little tearaways were heading that way only thirty minutes ago. Doesn't that strike you as at all _odd_?" Zhao queried, twiddling a pencil in-between his thumbs, "Zuko has an incredible knack for finding things out, and I intend to take full advantage of his talents whether he wants to share them or not."

"I see sir," the Captain looked aside and saw some very strong hints that he should stop now while Zhao was still in a good mood. He bowed respectfully, "very good, sir."

Zhao enjoyed the massage to his ego this appreciation provided, and nodded in response. The Staff Sergeant once again jumped into the brief silence, jittery with nervousness, "can _I _have permission to speak, sir!?"

Zhao's mood turned decidedly foul, and as he turned and stood, the assembled officers made frantic and urgent 'cutting' motions with their hands across their necks to the Staff Sergeant from behind the Colonel's back. The Colonel burnt the man's face into his memory for later use, threatening "you and I are going to have a little chat later, Sergeant." Zhao turned back to the advisers, whose hands quickly darted behind their backs as if nothing ever happened, and stated "you have your orders. Now if there is no more business to attend to, I'll be in my office."

Zhao made an about-turn and began striding towards the smoked glass window fittings that separated his office from the rest of the command centre. As he approached, however, his stride became less strident, and his walk gradually sauntered to a pause as he thought he heard something from behind the glass. The Sergeant twiddled his hands nervously, knowing that his clean service record was about to be cut drastically short. Zhao took two steps forward and held his ear towards the door, listening carefully. Upon making out what the scratchy, tinny, tinkling sound was, he angrily fumed in the Sergeant's direction, and walked in deliberate, methodical steps towards the clerk, asking in a low and menacing voice, "Sergeant...why is Rachmaninov playing in my office?"

"I tried to stop her, sir!" the Staff Sergeant was close to tears, "I told her she wasn't allowed in here! She was just so..._persuasive_..."

The Colonel's fists clenched, but he stayed his ire as he directed his attention back to the glass screen and the interloper who had invaded his personal sanctum.

* * *

Zhao slammed the door open, but the intruder didn't seem to notice much. The smoke trailing from the end of her cigarette-holder, held between two fingers sporting long, painted fingernails, briefly wafted from the opening of the door but was otherwise undisturbed. The Colonel was infuriated that she was reclined in his seat, and doubly infuriated that her boots were resting on his stuffed desk. Her boots were crossed at the end of a pair of eminently stylish stockings, which disappeared into a neat, functional mid-length skirt, which itself disappeared along with the rest of her behind the back pages of a broadsheet newspaper. Despite Zhao's woeful English, he could just about tell that it was a copy of the New York Times. The woman paid no attention whatsoever to Zhao, listening calmly to the piano concerto wafting across from _his_ gramophone, and she kept her face hidden behind the newspaper.

Zhao was just about ready to throw her off the train as he addressed her in mock politeness "can I...help you at all?"

The woman left a momentary pause, as if she wasn't really listening, and then folded the newspaper up in front of her, acting like she had genuinely finished reading. The woman was incredibly young...just a teenager, in fact...but she had an unshakeable air of authority about her that placed her above the higher echelons of generals and admirals simply by existing. Two dagger-like bangs of black hair cascaded either side of her face, framing a soft, pointed face remarkably similar to Zuko's. She wore a heavily modified uniform, tailored and styled to be at once functional and attractive, but in contrast to Zhao she wore no rank, no insignia, no medals, no ribbons, no kind of identification whatsoever.

The only sign that she held any position at all was the only sign she needed: her left lapel printed with the number '731'.

"Hmm?" Azula Hinaga remarked, making like she only just noticed him come in. She smiled calculatedly, "oh no! I'm fine. Thanks for asking, anyway."

Azula ruffled the newspaper open and went back to ignoring Zhao. All colour had drained from the Colonel's face. He turned to the Sergeant and made a silent motion to shoo him out. When the Sergeant stood confused at why his commander was letting someone sit in his office, Zhao's shooing became more urgent, until he took to shoving the clerk bodily out of the room and shut the door quietly after him.

Zhao turned, fidgeting on the spot in extreme discomfort. He began to speak several times, but each time he ended up gulping air back in again, until with some steeling of his nerves he finally asked a question, "do you...how are you finding the office? Is it comfortable?"

"It's acceptable," Azula shrugged.

"Good...good..." Zhao looked away uncomfortably. He inhaled another breath and said "I...see you brought music..."

"I leafed through your collection. There was nothing but Wagner," Azula folded the newspaper down again and graced him with his attention, "thankfully, I came prepared."

"I see..." Zhao said in a manner he considered pleasant. In a further brave attempt to make conversation, he continued "it's just...I...didn't know you liked Rachmaninov."

"There is no reason on this Earth why you _should _know I like Rachmaninov," Azula replied testily, tastefully taking a puff from her cigarette. She blew a gentle cloud of ash, and smiled again, "although it didn't take much effort to guess that you're not exactly big on aesthetic variety."

Zhao looked away from Azula and down at his feet. He cleared his throat, "and...what brings you to Hailar?"

"I don't believe that's any of your concern," Azula responded haughtily, returning to her newspaper. She wafted her cigarette in Zhao's direction and admonished, "please! By all means! Carry on like I'm not here."

"Of course," Zhao nodded in polite respect and retreated out the door, closing it as carefully as he could, leaving Azula to take another breath of smoke in peace. He had barely turned when he was practically assaulted by the Staff Sergeant, who was hysterical in apology.

"Sir! I have disgraced you and myself!" he chanted with tears in his screwed eyes, "I beg to be punished immediately and forcefully, so that I may suffer my shame and work towards my penance in your eyes!"

"Sergeant..." Zhao calmed the fretting soldier, "you have absolutely nothing to apologise for."

"What?" the clerk looked up in shock at Zhao's uncharacteristic clemency, "but...but I allowed a strange woman into your sanctum! I have been found derelict in my duties..."

"Oh please," Zhao laid an arm on the man's shoulder, "do you know what you just did? You not only saved your own life, but the lives of all your friends and loved ones from a fate worse than death."

The Sergeant blinked in confusion, "...really, sir?"

"Yes, and if you value your continued existence as a functioning human being you will _not _ask any further," Zhao shunted the soldier back to the command stations, "now get back to work, you miscreant. We have a monk with power over time and space to catch."

* * *

"_Yamateee!_" cried the men charging in from the station entrance. Sokka had wheeled around toward the exit as soon as he reached the main concourse, and now in the face of armed men blocking his way had skidded to a halt and darted in-between two parked trains onto another platform before the bullets had a chance to start flying. The other two followed his lead and scarpered out of the firing line as soon as practicable, but soon came to question the militiaman's judgement as Sokka had effectively led them into a closed-off shooting gallery, trapped between two trains and the end of the platform with the only way out becoming swarmed with the Kwantung Army.

The three stuttered and stalled when they reached the narrowing end of the platform, and jumped together behind the nearest pillar when bullets began taking chunks out of the surrounding concrete. Doubled over and panting to get their breath back, the suddenness of their newly-minted fugitive status had caught them unaware and ill-prepared for the privations and quick-wittedness the situation called for. Katara eyed Sokka bitterly and uttered "any more bright ideas, genius?"

Sokka gingerly poked his head out from behind the pillar enough to see many passengers on the train opposite do the same, as everyone wondered what the commotion was about. They all snapped back rapidly as ammunition began to fly, and the militiaman's mind worked furiously to figure out how to get out of their position without being ground into mince sauce. Eyes fell on the shut door opposite them on the railway carriage. It was their nearest exit, except... "I _did _have one, but I doubt those soldiers would be so sporting as to leave us be while we get that door open..."

His thought balloon popped when, as if fate had been eavesdropping on their conversation, the carriage door-window slapped down and a strong, portly Chinese man with a healthy face full of hair leaned through it to ask, "y'ain't runnin' from the Japanese 'cuz of anythin' bad, are ya?"

The three looked at each other to gauge their luck, and what to do with it, and after a moment's pause Katara poked her own head around, moistened her eyeballs and put on the best 'damsel' impression she could manage, "_please _help us, sir! We are but innocent country children all alone in the big city! We're lost and confused and these nasty men are shooting at us for some reason!"

Katara recoiled from a spray of concrete that shot in front of her, but the man opposite cracked a smile as much at the impressiveness of her performance under extreme pressure as any confirmation of innocence it implied. He hurriedly yanked down on the handle and hefted the door open, "well get in 'afore ye're shiskabobbed, fer god's sake!"

The three swallowed and ran the gauntlet, thrusting themselves forward so hard that they hurt themselves smacking against the other side of the carriage. The door smacked shut right behind them, and Aang had a momentary second to assess himself. He padded his jacket and felt that Momo's heart was still beating, so he allowed himself a sigh of relief.

"Mr guideman, sir!" a pompous voice rang up from the other end of the carriage, "do we have to stop and help _every _vagabond you chance upon in this journey?"

"Pfft! Trust _you _ta label 'em criminals after laying yer eyes on 'em all of five goddamned seconds!" a heartier and weightier female voice yelled from the same end of the carriage. Aang opened his tightly shut eyes once he realised they _were _tightly shut, and saw that they were clustered at the back of the carriage behind two seated columns of people trying very hard to sit as far away from each other as possible. One column was filled with clean, rakish people wearing either business suits or ceremonial garb, while the other side was filled with a decidedly smellier variety wearing either 'Sunday best' qipaos or strangely militaristic tunics, of a type he'd seen maybe once or twice in Hailar. It didn't take much guesswork to figure out which voice belonged to which group.

"Of course, a Jiang will leap on any opportunity to associate with criminals!" a tall, white-bearded man on the clean-people side turned his ire at the opposite group.

"While a Gan Jin wouldn't think twice 'bout selling out his grandma to th' Japanese!" a stout, forceful woman on the dirty-people side puffed up and rose to the challenge.

Despite the immense kerfuffle going on behind him involving the slamming down of windows and clumping of opening carriage doors, the situation before him seemed in some need of intervention. He made a conciliatory step forward and began tenderly, "listen, people, whatever problems you might have, maybe we can discuss this and try t-_urk!_"

"_Maybe later!_ " Sokka grabbed Aang by the back of the collar and half-strangled the boy as he was yanked bodily out of the carriage and through the door into the train on the opposite platform. The kindly guide clamped the door shut and twisted around just as a rifle butt burst through the window pane of the door facing the platform.

The door opened, and the guide put on his best showman's smile. At the foot of the steps, Colonel Hiroto wasted no time in marching up the steps and halting mere inches from the guide's nose, staring him down and asking coldly, "where are they?"

The guide's eyes didn't flicker, but instead he smiled broadly and pointed down the end of the carriage away from the door behind him, spouting off, "far 's I could tell, those critters went thataway, officer."

The commander looked carefully at the guide's expansive grin and regarded it with deep suspicion. He leant his head to one side and peered around the guideman's bulk at the door conveniently shut behind him, and straightened up to look at the man in condescension, "your attempts at 'folksy charm' aren't fooling anyone, you realise. _Get out of the way_, you tourist hack!"

Hiroto shoved the guide out of the way and yanked the door handle, only for it to come off in his hands. He stared at the lump of metal puzzlingly, then gave the broad-smiling guide one of the evilest looks he'd ever given anyone in his career. The guide spoke to the Colonel as if he was his best friend in the whole wide world, "that door's been doing that alllll down the trip. Swear ta Buddha!"

The Colonel threw the handle to one side and glanced back to his Lieutenant, who was at that moment rubbing a mean-looking black eye. The commander grunted an unspoken command and tilted his head towards the front of the train. The Lieutenant nodded and gathered together a batch of troops to cut off access to the opposite platform.

* * *

The train on the opposite platform had obviously been taken out of service, as it lay completely empty. The three shouldered through to the carriage beyond and took their bearings. In a split second Sokka caught a glimpse of a soldier out the window and immediately flung himself atop the others, pinning the three of them on the floor.

Through the shadows, they could hear threatening footsteps thundering past. They didn't seem to be doing much more than closing off the exits, but that wouldn't last long. And in any case the more time the soldiers spent securing the surroundings instead of looking for them, the more the odds of them getting out eventually disappeared. Aang groaned as he attempted to lean up and straighten his joints. He gradually regained his senses until they all came back in a panic-induced spurt. He fidgeted and patted himself as he realised Momo was missing. His fidgeting was cut off as his whole body was pressed to the floor by Sokka's arm.

"Keep quiet..." Sokka shushed. Katara, meanwhile, was horrifically aware that they were tremendously close to being skewered, which left her unable to stay quiet when their chances of getting out alive were being undermined by Sokka's seat-of-his-pants thinking.

"This doesn't seem like terribly long-term planning, Sokka," Katara pointed out, as deep-seated worry began to push out the sarcasm. Aang looked around worryingly for Momo, trying to latch onto a sound or a glimpse of fur, but he couldn't find a trace. He searched through all his senses, waiting for something to make itself known.

"We just need a place to hide..." Sokka thought aloud, "somewhere like a cargo hold, or a maintenance chute...someplace out of sight."

Searching...Aang picked up a sound...or was it a smell? For a moment it felt like his fingertips were touching fur, but his fingers were curled up beneath him. The boy monk focused...where was the critter?

"Are you serious?" Katara was becoming slightly unhinged with panic, "what can _we _find in 30 seconds that the Japanese _won't_?"

"How about there?" Aang spoke aloud and smiled, crawled out of Sokka's grip to point.

Sokka peered into the shadows and became gradually more confused, "how about where?"

"There!" Aang pointed, "see?"

* * *

The Colonel looked to the other end of the carriage and the unopened door that led to the other carriage, laid his hand on his sword sheath and marched quickly. He stomped his way between the rows of passive passengers, but upon reaching the end he found his way blocked by the bearded leader of the column of neat-minded folk.

"Colonel! I've been waiting for an opportunity to get in touch with a high-ranking member of the Kwantung Army hierarchy!" the man began in an offended tone.

"Looks like you're going to have to wait a while longer..." the Colonel attempted to side-step the man, but the leader seemed bent on blocking his path no matter which way he stepped. The officer glowered at the man.

"I have already requested an audience with the military authorities several times and never received a response!" the man continued as if the officer had all the time in the world, "as it happens, I am the appointed leader of a delegation of my tribe, the Gan Jins. We attended an audience with the Manchukuo Emperor to settle a dispute over water rights involving those capricious rogues, the Jiangs, and we are _not at all _satisfied that our concerns were adequately addressed!"

"It were your idea in th' first place, y' lil' stooge!" the stout woman representing the Jiangs emerged from the scrum and blocked whatever possibility the Colonel might have entertained about sneaking past them and darting to the door. The woman continued, "if ya really, really thought a talkin' puppet could wade in an' solve everythin', then ya really are as stupid as y'look!"

"I knew it! You never wanted these talks to succeed! You have been sabotaging the process every step of the way!" the man turned and jabbed his forefinger at the opposing woman.

"Hey! We came along, didn't we? We played along with yer talks an' yer negotiatin', cuz hey! Gan Jin wants ta soil 'imself with our presence? That's some big news right? But no, it's just gotta be another Gan Jin trick! You wanted to sell us out to outsiders! That's why ye're tattling ta this Japanese guy here!" the woman scolded.

"Of all the..." the man fumed, "your paranoia will be the death of us, so it will! Leave it to the Jiangs to react to every attempt to be reasonable as some kind of threat! Why I'd..."

Needless to say, it went on like this. While the Jiang and the Gan Jin got sucked into their own maelstrom of mutual dislike, the Colonel turned his head around slowly and looked questionably at the guide as if to ask whether these guys really were for real. The guide shrugged and laughed softly in response, stating "don't look at me. I'm just th' pathfinder."

The Colonel, feeling immensely put upon, finally snapped. "Oh that does it," he raised his voice so his soldiers could hear, "_taiho shimasu!_"

The soldiers snapped to attention and acknowledged, beginning to board the train and cart off the tribesmen at the edges of the congregations within moments of the order being given. The Gan Jin representative was utterly affronted, "wait! You can't do this! We're legitimate citizens of the Empire of Manchukuo!"

"Never trust the Japanese, I always said!" the Jiang protested as soldiers dragged her and the Gan Jin out of the Colonel's way, "almost as bad as the Gan Jins! _Almost!_"

Hiroto rolled his eyes and marched quickly to the door, pausing with his glove on the door handle to state, "be sure both groups get the same treatment! Wouldn't want to tread on their _delicate sensibilities_, would we!?"

The Colonel clunked the door shut behind him as he left the train.

* * *

Sokka peered through a crack in the door, down the dark and empty carriage. Whatever the guide was doing to stall the officer seemed to be working, which was excellent news as this little hiding spot needed a little preparatory work.

Katara piped up from behind, "see anything?"

"Not yet," Sokka reported, "believe me, you'll know."

Sokka kept his eyes peeled and ready, his rifle in hand should anything untoward happen. Katara saw fit to poke fun at Sokka's rifle-armed battle readiness, "so remind me again why we're dragging a rifle around with us?"

"Shush, you," Sokka snapped, concentrating harder. Every little distant call from the soldiers, every loud footstep and every disturbed dust mote commanded his full attention, feeling himself tightening up like a spring. In fact, his eyes were so focused at the other end of the carriage that when the Colonel burst through the door near his end of the carriage and eyed him dangerously, the militiaman momentarily froze in surprise. All he could do in that split second was utter "aw, hell."

"_Yamate!_ " the officer shouted at the top of his lungs. The door Sokka was peering through slammed shut in an instant, setting off a steady barrage of mad scrambling. His patience thoroughly tried, Hiroto pulled his sword clean out of his sheath and strode forward, taking his weapon in both hands and bringing it down on the door as hard as the man could physically manage. The lock splintered, and the commander shouldered the remains of the door open, ready to dice whoever was on the other side.

Except when he stopped and looked around, there wasn't a trace of the kids to be found. His eyes darted side-to-side, up and down, close to the ground, close to the ceiling, down the sides, up the sides, behind the curtains, down the toilets...no one was there.

Hiroto took stock of his situation and stood in the centre of the carriage, nostrils flaring as he continued looking in all directions and tightening his grip on his sword, even as soldiers burst through and clustered inside. The lower orders weren't too sure what to make of their commanding officer silently fuming and holding an unsheathed samurai sword, so most kept their distance. Only the black-eyed Lieutenant was brave enough to ask, "Taisa-sama?"

The Colonel pursed his lips in frustration. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been made to look so much like an idiot. His anger boiled over, and he snarled as he decapitated a hapless chair.

* * *

"This doesn't sound good," Gakki listened intently to the wireless set while his fingers were becoming numb working on three different things at once. As his wound was being covered by a head-band, he entertained delusions of being some kind of communications ninja, "seems like they've got him cornered in Harbin station, sir."

"I'd like to see how long they keep him there," Zuko dismissed, carefully peering at the potted mountain road that constituted their ad hoc journey south. As much as he knew the Qoghusula would get out, a hint of worry remained. He decided too much information about the incident would be bad for him, and told Gakki, "shouldn't you be busy fixing the Instrument?"

"I can multi-task!" Gakki complained. His hands were becoming bright red after so many hours spent soldering circuit boards on the move.

"What about the people following us?" Zuko raised his voice to reach the ceiling.

"It's some new guys now, sir," the gunner reported, "seem a bit half-hearted about it, though. I don't think they're Kokami's people."

"Wave hi to them for me!" Iroh smiled light-heartedly.

* * *

"Target discovered, sir!" the radio operator swiveled his chair away from the communications wall to inform his superior, "subject is contained inside Harbin Central Station. Colonel Hiroto of 52nd Infantry is enacting the requested arrest, but early appraisals indicate that he is running into some difficulty."

Zhao padded his fingers together and made an effort not to smile. This was excellent news. The more difficulty Hiroto had, the more effort the Colonel wasted in trying to capture a droplet in a flowing stream, the less trouble Zhao would have with sweeping in and finishing the job for the hapless divisional commander. The man was a loose cannon, and Zhao was certain that Hiroto was leading the arrest personally. He'd cause the Qoghusula some difficulty, of course, but the Colonel was his own worst enemy...prideful, pompous, paranoid, too eager to hold grudges, and while a capable tactician was utterly hopeless when it came to keeping the big picture straight. Which of course was exactly why he was amongst the people Zhao entitled with knowledge of the Qoghusula. That, and because he was one of the few people in the Kwantung Army who would go on a wild goose chase simply because Zhao asked him nicely.

Colonel Kokami held high position and wielded substantial influence, but a good portion of his influence was underhanded and unofficial, based on owed favours and skeletons in closets. His rise had been swift and rapid on the back of such favours, and the Kwantung Army was an immense help as one of the largest old boys' clubs in the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. But in spite of the clout he held the official difference between his position and Zuko's was two extra stars on his collar. Zhao was nothing if not an opportunist, however, and the chance to secure by his own means the key to Japanese conquest of Asia...heck, the world...represented the surest chance of soon being able to order people about not because of a smoking room tit-for-tat, but because _Zhao Kokami told them to_.

"Keep me up to date on all developments," Zhao reminded the technician. He turned to a large map of the Manchurian region fixed to the wall and the advisors busily taking phone calls and pinning coloured tabs along the South Manchurian Railway. Relishing the opportunity to use the map for things other than managing supplies of felt, he asked haughtily, "have the rear units withdrawn from Hailar, yet?"

"Y...'scuse me...yes, sir!" a heavily overworked Captain pinned a telephone receiver against his shoulder and turned in the Colonel's direction, scribbling energetically on a wad of papers without looking at them, "6th Brigade is seventeen minutes behind schedule, sir. Their departure overlapped with the arrival of advance units of 119th Division, and the commander...pardon me..." The Captain flipped through his papers, dropping a couple of slips in the rush, "Colonel Ikeda...was asking questions about the haste of our redeployment and the mess we left behind."

"Matters arose that demanded our immediate attention..." Zhao smiled and relaxed in his seat. Ikeda was such a sap that he'd believe anything he was told. The Colonel concluded "can't be helped, really."

"I'll relay the message directly, sir," the Captain nodded, returning to the map board. At that juncture his Lieutenant, who was plugged into a separate phone line, turned to give his report.

"Kwantung Army HQ is relaying a message from Lieutenant General Sonobe, sir," he reported level-headedly, clearly much better at multi-tasking than his superior, "he's requesting information...this is ad verbatim, sir...as to 'why wanted posters for children are turning up in every unit under my command.' Should I relay a response, sir?"

Zhao's smile disappeared, and he leaned forward in deep thought. General Sonobe, Commander of Eleventh Army and his immediate superior, was a trickier proposition than poor Ikeda. While Ikeda could be satisfied by waffle, Sonobe only grew more agitated when subjected to it. Zhao didn't have nearly enough dirt on Murakami to force the issue, and Sonobe was one of the few people in the Kwantung Army with the power to stop his career dead. All he could do was play for time, so he decided "stall him for now. Say that he'll receive a full explanation in due course."

Zhao glanced nervously at the communications wall. There was still no response from the Triple-Zero message he sent, and every moment that went by without a response made his position more precarious. His only chance was to set his mission so far into motion that clarifying its status would be no more than a matter of rubber-stamping something already happening. It was a risk, and the convolutions of Kwantung Army politics made it an especially high risk, but the Qoghusula was worth it. He knew it had to be.

His nervous glance headed up the carriage to the smoked glass, and beyond it the trail of cigarette fumes that spiraled gracefully towards the ceiling. Kwantung Army politics he could handle. The most he could fear was re-assignment in the event of losing internal squabbles. But Azula didn't do internal squabbles. She could overrule the lot of it on a whim. In her hands was the power of life, death, and a whole spectrum of imaginative alternatives.

Thoughts turned to forbidden matters: Why is she here? Does she know what he's planning? Does she have some vested interest in what's going on? What _is_ she up to?

Zhao forcefully banished such thoughts from his mind and turned his attention back to the map board.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-08

* * *

**Author's Note: **The next chapter is already written and in the process of being proof-read, so it shouldn't be long coming. Of course, these things can't be rushed, but the comparative deluge after weeks of drought is all thanks to the godawful wireless connection in my house that hasn't been functional for the last fortnight. It's actually a good thing, as constant access to the internet had left me in a perpetual state of _verfallen_, as Heidegger would have put it, where I was so enmeshed inside the wired that I was beginning to lose all trace of myself. Going into 'autistic mode' has helped me regain my outer shell and left me with no alternative except writing, and the long Easter weekend definitely helped in that regard.

Again, many thanks to Assault Sloth for being such a sporting chum in agreeing to proof-read an immature man-child's fan-fiction for a kids' cartoon show when he had considerably more pressing matters to attend to. Read his stuff, you cads!

Tune in for more soon!


	19. Pt 2 Ch 9: Schrödinger's Child

"You're _positive _that no one has stepped off this train?" Colonel Hiroto's obsessive compulsiveness continued to wax, and his hand was absent-mindedly tugging the hilt of his sword in and out of its sheath, "no one sleeping on the job or distracted by a woman or tying his boot-laces or anything like that? Every corner looked over, every exit guarded, lots of eagle-eyed Privates keeping both eyeballs on the tracks and not slacking off for a bite to eat? You can say with complete, utter, total, absolute, cast-iron certainty that no Mongolian teenagers, no Tibetan monks, and certifiably no _rodents _could possibly slip through?"

"Rodents...sir?" the Lieutenant was thinking long and hard about requesting reassignment should his commanding officer let him live long enough to file one. The station had been shut down and sealed off, with all passengers either shoved out without refund or held in detention if they looked somewhere between 9 and 17. Reinforcements had been called and the local police were gratefully given the rest of the afternoon off. This left Colonel Hiroto the sole authority inside the concrete structure, and his impatient scowl was not to be trifled with.

"Just answer the question," the Colonel demanded testily. The Lieutenant coughed politely and reported.

"There is nowhere the targets could possibly be except on one of those two trains, sir," the junior officer confirmed.

"And yet no sign of them," Hiroto stressed.

"No, sir. We've searched everywhere from top to bottom," the Lieutenant elaborated, "it's likely that they slipped through the net while it was still being established, sir."

"You're right, it is likely," the Colonel looked around the station in thought, calmly assessing his adjutant's advice. This took the Lieutenant a little by surprise, as the commander looked distantly at the possible ways his quarry could have escaped. But the brief, contemplative silence came to a violent end as the officer whirled around and boxed his Lieutenant's ear. As the younger man sprawled against the ground, his commander yelled in his face, "_that's exactly what they want you to think, you unimaginative baboon!_"

The Lieutenant blinked his way out of the mild concussion and peered at the fuzzy, angry shape above him. He felt like was swimming in the depths of the East China Sea, and held a vague feeling that a vicious fifty-armed octopus was waiting for him at the surface.

"Get up!" the Colonel ordered, and the Lieutenant's muscles dutifully responded no matter how much his mind really didn't want to. His commander furiously gestured at the resting trains, "take those trains down to the railyard and tear them apart! Smoke the filthy animals out of their holes!"

The Lieutenant nodded dully and watched distantly as Hiroto snorted and stomped haughtily towards the train. The hell with reassignment, the officer thought as his feet carried him to the task at hand. Being a tax collector in Yokohama was more fulfilling than this line of work.

* * *

"Hey...I was wondering about something..." Sokka whispered through the pitch dark, which in their cramped conditions was about as subtle as shouting through a megaphone.

"_What _were you wondering about, Sokka?" Aang asked dryly, busily attempting to fill the time with enlightened thinking only to be brought down by Sokka's nervous attempts at small-talk.

"What does 'yammer tay' mean, anyway?" Sokka asked, "you know? What those guys were shouting all the time?"

"Oh, gee, let me think, Sokka," Katara interrupted before Aang had a chance to answer, "now this might be just a random shot in the dark, but _maybe_, just _possibly_, it _might _just mean '_stop running or die!_' I mean, it's not like there's just one thing armed men running and shooting at you could possibly say to you, is there?"

"Sweet holy moly, just asking a question..." Sokka relented, angrily ignoring his irate sister. As the vacuum of silence opened up another conversation topic popped into his head, "hey, you know one other thing?"

"_What, _Sokka?" Katara snapped quietly.

"That guy was waving around a great, big samurai sword, right?" Sokka pointed out, "it's just...aren't those only to be taken out when you're about to draw blood? Like...it's dishonourable to put it back into its holster dry? That sorta thing?"

"I think that's French Musketeers," Aang pointed out, "not...samurai..."

"Oh..." Sokka clammed up and stayed quiet.

"You never know," Katara deflated and turned to morbid thinking, "maybe it will draw blood before this is over."

Katara's attitude was worrying Aang enough to propel him to fill the void left by Sokka's conversation, "actually, that whole musketeer/samurai thing? It's pretty interesting, really. I mean, everyone goes on about the mysticalness of eastern martial arts and so on, but the west has martial arts of its own, y'know. Hard to imagine with the Maxim guns and all, but you know ballet? With the prancing and the swans and all that? _That _comes from techniques dismounted knights used to protect themselves when their swords went flying."

"It all comes back to war, doesn't it?" Katara spoke distantly.

"That," Aang hurriedly modified his message, "or you can find beauty in the strangest places."

Katara seemed to turn and smile, but in the pitch blackness it was impossible to tell. To make things easier, she reached her hands out and felt for Aang's hand, clasping it as soon as she found it. Aang smiled back, satisfied with simply making her feel better. The feel of her hands, however, told a deeper and more worrying truth.

"K...Katara..." Aang ventured unsurely, "you're shaking."

"What?" Katara responded in confusion. She didn't _feel _she was shaking, "well...I'm just a little nervous."

"No... I mean really _shaking _shaking," Aang asserted, "like... uncontrollable paroxysms, if... I'm using that word right."

Katara felt her own hands and found that she was having trouble keeping her fingertips steady enough to do so. She steadied herself and sharply exhaled, noticing that her breath was coming out in less of a waft and more of a series of puffs. The feeling of being questioned wasn't helping her abominably poor mood, "I'm claustrophobic! Okay!?"

"No you're not!" Sokka interjected in a sharp whisper, "you don't get claustrophobic! Remember that time you discovered my toy stash and spent the next two days hiding under the floorboards? You would've happily stayed there the rest of your natural life, so I call shenanigans on your 'claustrophobia', woman."

"I hope my toy stash is still there..." Aang worried absent-mindedly.

"Okay! Okay! C'mon guys!" Katara pleaded, "we're trapped in a hole, nasty men are looking around trying to kill us, and we're _known fugitives _! This isn't super-fun-happy secret agent adventure time anymore! This is...loud people shouting and running and guns and bullets and... and I'm the only one who feels scared!? What's wrong with _you _!?"

"Katara..." Aang took her hands and squeezed them together, "it's _okay to _feel scared. I'm scared too. But that's just our bodies telling us to look after ourselves. Let's follow their advice, all right?"

"All right...all right, you don't need to worry, I can do this," she stilled herself and rummaged around in her spot, "doesn't help that this padding smells weird..."

"That's...not...padding..." Sokka interrupted carefully. The unnerved tone drew the attention of the others.

"What is it, then?" Aang asked. The stuff was making his backside hurt.

"What else are you gonna pack into a secret cubby-hole hidden on a train?" Sokka questioned rhetorically, seemingly incredulous that the others could think of anything else.

"Would you happen to be an _authority _on such things, brother?" Katara's raised eyebrow could be seen in the dark.

"So _Aang!_" Sokka deftly deflected, "how did you find this place, anyway? It's not like you'd know where it is by looking at it."

"Well actually, it was Momo who found it," Aang held the gerbil forward and stroked it in congratulation, "he scurried down the rabbit hole, so to speak..."

"Nuh-uh. No dice, chump. The rat's not getting the credit for this one," Sokka leaned forward, "Momo found the hole, but how did _you _find Momo?"

"I..." Aang found himself strangely ill-equipped to answer the question, "I...heard him...I guess..."

"You _heard _?" Sokka repeated sceptically, "you heard a gerbil squeak over engine noise and gunfire?"

"Okay, not _heard_ heard him," Aang interrogated his own memory of how he found the hideaway, "I just...knew...where he was..."

"I see," Sokka nodded sagely, "Aang, I think you have a right to know, you are a bizarre freak of biology."

"Oh Sokka, leave him alone," Katara nagged, maternal instincts overruling her chattering molars, "and instead of spending your energies cross-questioning Aang, how about putting them towards something useful like _getting us out of here?_"

"No need, fellow sibling," Sokka piped up, "all we need to do is stay put, wait until the Japanese conclude we must have slipped out, and once they leave we'll sneak out, keep our heads down and make for the countryside!"

"There's going to be false moustaches in this plan, isn't there?" Katara suspected, before arguing "you really think _our _patience is going to outlast _professional soldiers_?"

"With that display? They're about as professional at soldiering as Solongo from back home was at goat-herding," Sokka dismissed, "besides, what are they going to do? Take the whole train to the yard and melt it down for scrap?"

The three half-crushed into each other as their surroundings abruptly lurched forward. Once settled down, they could hear the chuffing of engines and the rumbling of the grains of... whatever it was they were resting on. The carriage rattled into motion, and trapped in the darkness they could only guess as to their destination. They mostly guessed the worst.

With Katara's teeth taking on a renewed bout of chattering, it was left to Aang to carry the torch of satirical commentary, "care to reassess your strategy, Monsieur Napoleon?"

* * *

" Got it!" Gakki yelled triumphantly as a loud buzz burst through his eardrums. He threw the headphones off and rubbed his aching ears , "_owww_...I forgot how annoying that signal was..."

"Where is he?" Zuko asked impatiently, drumming his fingers along the back of Gakki's seat as he leaned over the technician's shoulder.

"Aaaah...I don't know, sir," Gakki unplugged his ear holes with his pinky and scotched up the headphones again, "just let me triangulate the spikes in the signal."

"Don't take your time," Zuko peered ahead at the rocky outcrop, keeping an eye out for possible ambush sites. The enemy liked to prey on small units like theirs.

"Um, sir?" the gunner leaned out of his seat and queried, "don't we already know where he is?"

"Yes, we do," Zuko answered curtly, "but we need to know where he _will_ be..."

* * *

Colonel Hiroto burst through each door in turn as he marched up the moving train. The soldiers carrying out the increasingly fruitless search stood to attention as he came by, but the commander paid them no heed. Despite the rumbling and rattling of the carriages beneath his feet, he remained steadfastly planted to the floor. Every time he shoved a door open and entered another empty passenger carriage, he gave a similar order.

"When we reach the yard, decouple this carriage and have large men with hammers tear the thing apart as loudly and viciously as possible!" he ordered as he fixed his gaze on the next door.

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant at his heels acknowledged.

Hiroto burst through another door and shouted, "when we reach the yard, decouple _this _carriage and have intact portions of it chucked wholesale into a furnace!"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant repeated dutifully.

Another door met Hiroto's wrath and his ranting orders began once more, "when we reach the yard, decouple _this _carriage and chop it to pieces with huge, sharp, menacing saws!"

"Sir, I hate to interrupt," the Lieutenant steeled himself for another pummelling, but someone had to point it out, "but you've given basically the same order three times now."

" Why do you think I'm saying it out loud?" the Colonel ignored his officer and angrily bashed another door in, "_I know they're here!_"

* * *

The three huddled close as loud and menacing footsteps clomped overhead. Their options looked decidedly dicey, and they could hear so many soldiers stomping overhead that they couldn't dare make a bolt for freedom. They relented and slunk back into their corners, looking at each other in the darkness.

"So...what now?" Aang asked weakly.

"Maybe...maybe the yard has lax security..." Sokka began.

"Oh, stop it, Sokka," Katara exclaimed, "we've gotten away up to now cuz of sheer luck, and nothing else. It was going to run out sooner or later."

"We can't give in to fatalist thinking!" Sokka shored up, "I mean...sure...our chances look pretty sucky right now. But there's always been a way out hasn't there?"

"Someone or something up there has been giving us ways out..." Katara sighed heavily. But the offhand comment sparked a random thought in her brain, and she looked in Aang's confused direction. Her eyes widened along with the corners of her lips, "or maybe...or maybe it's cuz we _have_ someone from up there with us!"

Sokka didn't think much of Katara's latest brainstorm, "y'know, superstition technically counts under 'fatalist thinking'."

"No! No!" Katara set her idea straight, "I mean...we have with us a boy who's in touch with every time and place! He can help us!"

"I can?" Aang queried.

"You've done it before, right!?" Katara needled, fixing on him a smile born out of desperation, "you travelled all the way from Tibet to Mongolia! And in the attic of our place, you did something there, too! You can get us out of here!"

The awesome responsibility sent Aang reeling, and he looked away from Katara, "I don't know..."

"Aang, don't worry," Katara held his hand again, and stayed her trembling to calm his nerves, "we're here for you. We can help you through it."

"Except...that's the thing," Aang admitted, "I'm not even sure how it works...the last few times happened by accident. And I've never taken...passengers...before. Even if I did manage it, we could end up _anywhere_."

"Yeah, Katara, I know we don't have too many alternatives," Sokka interrupted, "but let me put it inta perspective. Earth's surface...70 water. Earth's make-up...98 solid rock. And that's a tiny, ickle, wickle pebble in the vast, cold vacuum of space."

"Where are you going with this?" Katara snapped.

"I'm just saying, if we can go 'anywhere', the chances of us ending up there intact are pretty slim," Sokka made his point.

"Actually, I don't think it really works like that, either," Aang indicated, pausing momentarily to collect his memories, "it's like...it's kinda like a tangled-up piece of string. Whatever you're unravelling, it's a part of something else. So wherever we end up, it'll have something to do with us somehow. Our past, our future-"

"Wait, wait, hold up," Sokka interjected, "are you saying the chances of materialising in solid rock ain't actually all that high?

"I s'pose," Aang shrugged, "the monks said something like what I just said, and I can't say anything I've gone through has flew in the face of it, so-"

"Well what are ya waiting for!?" Sokka took Aang by the shoulders and shook, "get us the hell outta here!"

"Sokka!" Katara levered her brother off of Aang, "don't _harangue _him into it!"

Aang pulled himself together. Once recovered, he gave his honest opinion, "I still don't think it's a good idea. Last time I sent myself fifty years into the future! Who knows what might happen now?"

" You've done it before, you can do it again," Sokka reasoned, "it doesn't matter where! Just so long as it's _not here_!"

"You said so yourself that would probably end badly," Aang asked concisely, "what happened to putting things into perspective?"

"_Putting things into perspective_, my monkish companion," Sokka drawled, "can you imagine a state of affairs _worse _than the one we're in now?"

Aang considered briefly, then sighed deeply, "I don't even know if I can do it."

"_I_ know you can do it, Aang," Katara took Aang's other hand and turned the boy monk in her direction, "don't even think about it. Just do it."

Aang looked from Katara to Sokka to Katara again, then bowed his head, muttering "okay."

Aang Anil made himself comfortable, crossing his legs and ticking off his internal checklist of meditation requirements. The _mudra _was straightforward, a simple matter of putting his arms and legs in the right position, with his elbows propped on his knees and his right hand resting in his left hand in his lap. The _mandala _was more troublesome to arrange.

"Hey, uh...this is gonna be embarrassing..." Aang steeled himself, "I need five red points situated around me."

" A _mandala_? Okay!" Katara snapped up her satchel and began to rummage, "I got these painted wooden cubes to act as stand-ins. If I could just...let's see...no, that's not it...that's not it either...ah! There we go! Oh...no...never mind, those are Gran-Gran's cough sweets. It's hard to tell without any light...ohh...I should've cleaned this out before I left..."

"Hold up! Hold up a second!" Sokka called a time-out on all the theological shenanigans, though Katara didn't pay much attention and continued scrounging through her bag, "this is ridiculous! Soldiers are crawling all over this thing intent on separating our heads from our necks, and we're stalling over five wooden cubes?"

"I did it last time by meditating!" Aang protested, "and if we want to be sure, we have to do this right!"

"Uh huh..." Sokka looked dismissively at the monk, "say, Aang, when you were travelling all over the world, did you need five red points every time you meditated then?"

"Of course not!" Aang snapped back. Katara froze and dropped her satchel.

"Wait...whuh?" she gurgled.

"When you're travelling long distances, you don't have the luxury to meditate the way you want to!" Aang argued back at Sokka, "as a monk, you're required by the noble eight-fold path to live humbly with no permanent possessions, to rely on the kindness of others, to spread the spiritual way of the Buddha and help those in need. It shouldn't matter whether you have the _mandala _to hand or not! It's all internal! The only thing you need to reach inner truth is yourself!"

"Ah _hah!_" Sokka quietly triumphed, "according to your _own_ superstitious mumbo-jumbo, you don't need those five red points!"

"_You don't!?_ " Katara could feel a few eggs of religious certainty splatter inside her head. Aang winced at the implication. It wasn't at all what he meant to say.

"Well," Aang turned around and shrugged apologetically at Katara, "in Tibet it's... kinda... mandatory."

"But we're not _in _Tibet are we?" Sokka smiled deviously, "c'mon, kid, you've got a close, personal relationship with '_The Void'_. Ya honestly think '_The Void' _is gonna give a damn how your furniture is arranged?"

"Okay! Okay! I get it!" Aang closed his eyes and re-assumed his _mudra_, scowling, "but if this doesn't work, you know who I'm gonna blame."

"What a spiritually-minded person you are," Sokka mocked. His cockiness and swagger lingered for a short while, but eventually dispersed as an awkward question popped up, "hey...uh...I don't have to meditate too, do I? It's just...I can't really remember how..."

"Hm?" Aang opened an eye and thought, "no, I don't think so. After all, I'm the only one doing the Qoghusula-ing. Just stick close, okay?"

Aang relaxed himself as soon as he gave this advice, but was slightly knocked when Katara followed his advice, took his arm in her hands and squeezed both her fingers and her eyes. Even if she didn't need to meditate, she needed to do something. Aang felt her quickened heartbeat against his arm, smiled, and began. He recited, under his breath, the _mantra _he spoke the other day.

"Keep that quiet! We don't want them to hear!" Sokka whispered harshly.

Aang could hear him, but distantly. It was gradual, but he could feel himself drifting into a trance-like state, and soon he'd be able to reach out and touch the edges of the void. He stopped himself briefly as he realised...he needed to take his friends with him.

It was a joy to share this feeling with others.

* * *

Two Kwantung Army soldiers peered down both ends of their respective carriages from their vantage point in-between them. One was middle-aged and scruffy, the other young and clean-shaven. The middle-aged, scruffy one was beginning to suspect the young one wasn't so much clean-shaven as not-shaven-at-all, but he had been in the army long enough to know that telling on him was a waste of time. The moment a teenager had a passing fancy to join the military, Japanese society made it its mission to change that passing fancy into a reinforced steel certainty, so he kept his post at the end of the carriage and kept his mouth shut,a task that the irritating noise lingering in his ears was making hard to do. "Did someone leave their radio on? I've a mind to drive a hammer through it. That buzz is getting on my nerves."

The older man poked into his ear with his pinky and wriggled around, turning to his younger colleague to spread the misery around. His finger-wiggling stopped when he noticed the other soldier had turned a deathly, pasty pale colour.

"Do you...do you hear that?" the youngster's voice trembled, "it's... someone's... I can hear singing… my god, I hear the heavens singing..."

The scruffy man furrowed his brow. He had seen a few underagers crack under pressure in his time, but rarely during routine guard duty.

* * *

"The signal! It's doing it again!" Gakki shouted with undisguised enthusiasm.

"Doing _what_ again!?" Zuko demanded to know.

"It's surged, sir! Like back at the Mongolian village!" Gakki frantically twisted knobs and flicked switches to clamp down on the roaring, crackling noise flowing through his headphones, "the quantum wavelength has entered a state of super-probability! He'll be easy to track now!"

"Well track him, then!" Major Hinaga's nerves were on fire. The Qoghusula was acting in exactly the way he hoped he was. He yanked a map out from under a pile of papers stacked on the desk on the other side of the Chiyoda. Rolling it out over discarded charts and notes, the scarred officer grabbed a compass and triangle and hollered back, "co-ordinates! Now!"

Zuko scowled, immune to Gakki's enthused state, as he hunkered down and concentrated on the task of capturing his objective. With this, he would have information Colonel Kokami didn't, and stolen a march on him even if he found out. Zhao may have the resources and the inside links, but Zuko possessed a far more valuable asset: he needed to win at all costs.

One problem plagued him...how to use the information without Zhao's lackeys catching wind of it. He needed to lose his escort and fast, but simple evasive manoeuvres weren't going to be enough. He needed to prevent the escorts being _sent_. As he looked at the map, and its various administrative divisions, a faintly devious idea popped into his head. Zhao was obviously relying on the kindness of strangers, as the units under the command of the various regional divisions were only following Zhao by proxy. So he would abuse their hospitality.

"Driver!" Zuko yelled, "take a detour towards T'ung-liao, to the south-west!"

"Ya sure, sir?" the driver called back, "we'll be cutting around most've th' road system!"

"We've managed the last hundred miles! We can manage a few more!" Zuko looked at his map again, "cut through the town and head to Chien-ping, further south-west, and once there head south-east to Chao-yang, north-east to Fa-ku, then south to Mukden."

"Any reason fer th' two dozen scenic routes ye're askin' fer?" the driver queried.

"Cut across as many provinces as possible!" Zuko made sharply clear, "exhaust the people tracking us!"

"First co-ordinate, sir!" Gakki shouted louder than he really needed to, panting with anticipation.

"Ready!" Zuko matched the ferocity of the shout, but somehow it sounded just right. He scrabbled pencil and paper together in preparation.

"Ah, this makes me feel young again," Iroh sunk into his bunk and absorbed the energy and vitality flowing from the unit of soldiers that formerly answered to him.

* * *

Noises were materialising inside the eardrums of his men, and Colonel Hiroto was decidedly unhappy, partially because it was impairing the ability of his soldiers to do their job, but mostly because of what _he _was hearing. Each soldier in turn was hearing something slightly different. Some heard chanting, some heard singing, some heard muffled white noise and some were even hearing instrumental effects like wind chimes, rain drops and an avant-garde modernist drum-and-brass orchestra in one case. All he was hearing was the muffled voice of his mother nagging him incoherently. Every second it continued made him angrier.

"Sir...I..." the Lieutenant was marginally creeped out by this experience, "I think I recognise that sound. It's an old Tibetan hymn, sir. It's asking Buddha to guide everyone and bring down all the obstacles, fulfilling aspirations... and... all that!"

"I can't hear any hymns, Lieutenant!" Hiroto snarled, eyes flickering from one to another as he marched back down the carriages in search of the source, "everyone's hearing what they want to hear!"

" But not everyone's hearing _words_, sir!" the Lieutenant pointed out, "I think I'm hearing the genuine article!"

The Colonel stopped and turned to face down his adjutant furiously, "so how come _you _know so much about this!?"

"I..." the Lieutenant cringed as he anticipated another beating, "I graduated with a degree in Theology at Tokyo University...sir..."

"Hmph..." the commander condescended, turning around and beginning to march again, surprisingly without concussing anyone, "figures that you'd turn out to be a _student_."

"But what _is _it, sir!?" the Lieutenant ran to catch up with him and pleaded, "what's doing this!? What do we do about it!?"

"It's _him_!" the Colonel snapped, the rushing light turning from yellow to grey and back to yellow as he passed a window, "that brat and his friends! He's the one doing thi-"

The Colonel stopped in his tracks, colour draining from his face. He turned abruptly and shoved his junior officer out of the way as he pressed his hands against the yellow light flowing through the window he passed. He was absolutely certain he saw something there. Not the wheat fields and the tendrils of urbanity that made up the outskirts of Harbin, but a station platform on a grey, cloudy day a lifetime away. He'd briefly seen a figure running to keep up with the train, her face wet with tears, screaming at Hiroto to come back to his family.

"Sir?" the Lieutenant could only see the fields and the suburbs, and was wondering mightily why the Colonel was transfixed at the window with his mouth open, looking like someone had just stolen his rattle. Hiroto shook it off and tore himself away from the window, going quiet and clenching his fists tremblingly.

"Tear this train apart," the Colonel ordered softly.

"Yes, sir, at the yard we'll..." the Lieutenant began.

"_To hell with the yard!_ " Hiroto shook with murderous fury, "_tear it apart this instant!_"

* * *

The chanting seemed loud, but Katara knew from before that the sound wasn't really 'sound' that could be tracked from anywhere, so they were still effectively hidden. But it was only now, in proximity with Aang, that she noticed something extremely odd. She could hear the soft, silent whisper of Aang chanting and the strange chanting inside her head side-by-side, and noticed that they were slightly different. Not only were the voices off key, but the _tones _were different. The chant in her head had a higher, deeper voice, an echo-y feel to it. It sounded like it was coming from someone else.

She huddled closer to Aang, feeling herself being sucked into a raging storm and looking for something steady to cling to.

* * *

Sokka rubbed his ears, and his temples, to offset the detuned radio buzz that smothered his senses. It was immensely irritating and not really helpful in allowing a spiritual mindset to develop. His head rattling, he sought to distract himself, but upon searching around for something to occupy his attention, his fingers picked up something in the powder underneath. The grains were swimming around of their own accord.

Something in the radio buzz pricked his ears, like it briefly shot past a station and back into static again. It did it a few times, as muffled voices seemed to break through. There was a gruff, masculine voice, but he couldn't make out the words, only that it felt strangely re-assuring. It was a voice that bestowed upon him the knowledge that he was a responsible man now, the protector and the provider. It conferred authority...then disappeared. Other voices took its place, and he couldn't make out how many there were. They seemed of a higher pitch...female voices...and they didn't sound re-assuring at all. They sounded trapped, and terrified.

Sokka hunkered down to settle his nerves, and wished that Aang would hurry up and do his thing.

* * *

Time disappeared.

The barriers came down and Aang was free to travel elsewhere. Except this time he was taking baggage with him, and he felt weighted down. With every piece of himself drifting apart and merging with other things, it seemed unreasonable to have to carry something else. It instilled in him a responsibility to stay together, and as much as he resented it, he couldn't help but feel obligated to keep that weight close. It was a weight, but it felt valuable somehow, to some part of him far away in another place and time. It was his duty to that small part of him to accommodate its wishes.

His horizons thus clipped, he could only go down so many paths. There were a few strings to tug, but he couldn't pull just any old one. He needed to find out where they led. He couldn't find that string he tugged before, but it was all part of the same complex... he'd reach there eventually. Weighted down, he could only find the most obvious ones, and experimentally unravelled to see where they led.

A part of him peered down one end of a string. It felt damp and stony. Something squishy trampled underneath...it had a label on it with some kind of writing. Outside the human context, he couldn't begin to guess what the writing was. One moment he could see billowing steam from the other end of a long concrete chute, the next his eyes were blinded by light. A moment later there was a wall, covered with pock-marks and blood. This one was no good. It frayed at the end.

Meanwhile, another part of him lightly tugged a string that was piny and woody. It seemed nice, green, a little dark from the evening light, but pleasant enough. He could feel something, though. Wet splinters crowding his fingers. Clumps of mud stuck to his face. It felt rather abstract. He could feel the splinters and mud in his fingers and on his face, but he couldn't feel his fingers or his face. The sounds, also, came in fits and starts. Loud bangs and whistling sounds followed by booms. Figures were falling around him. Then a flash came, and the string frayed there as well. That was pointless, this particular bit of him thought.

While this was going on, a more sensible couple of bits of him was checking a strand to see how far it went, and were pleased to find that it continued back into the maelstrom of possibility for a good, decent distance. But upon inspection, it wasn't what he wanted at all. It was cramped and claustrophobic, cold and clean and antiseptic. It felt extremely alone, and painful. He felt weathered and insecure, and that didn't sound like a good place to be. One part of Aang did the spiritual equivalent of a harrumph and shoved it aside, but the other part hesitated enough that something from the string momentarily blinded him. A dusty light showered over him and rooted him to the spot. A black shape occupied the centre of the light and spoke in a cold, methodical female voice "hello there...this is an unexpected pleasure."

The bit of Aang that left first looked back at the other bit and discovered that it had disappeared. Shrugging, this part merged with the part that had investigated the damp, stony, chutey place to concentrate his thoughts. He didn't want to think about the last place too closely. Instead, he eyed another loose strand and peered down that one too. So far, these possibilities were all terrible, and by the principles of probability at least one of the strands he was pulling must be all right.

The one he'd tugged just then seemed like the nicest of all. Salty wind pressed against his features, and he could feel soft grass beneath his fingers. He was on an island, looking over a wide channel towards a pleasant-looking fishing town. Seagulls were calling, the sea was fair, and it looked like a pleasant day. It was also the one strand he'd investigated where he wasn't caught up in something. It seemed gentle, quiet, and relatively unobtrusive. There were concrete buildings behind him, built into the rock, but they didn't seem bothersome. The town across the stretch of water was at the mouth of a river, and either side of it were gentle mountains. The tense situation in the Harbin train seemed like a distant memory.

As he settled into the grass, he could feel himself solidifying, bringing together all the amorphous bits of himself that had drifted across the void while he was busy looking for a place. He then realised that some of these bits had baggage on them, and distantly remembered that someone had told him there were would be others coming. His hand slapped four or five separate foreheads. Of course! That someone was _himself_. He braced himself for the effort of reconstituting his person and bringing his passengers along. This seemed like a good spot, most of him decided. It seemed unlikely that anything bad could happen here.

Something bugged him. He checked his senses to be sure and found that all the birds had stopped singing.

An instant later his vision was blasted by an intense white, hot light, brighter and more intense than the sun. Only a portion of him was there, but that portion had its retinas burnt off. Tagging a few other portions, he could feel an intolerable heat, hotter than an oven, that set the grass around him on fire. His hand had flown up to protect his eyes and now...for some reason he couldn't feel his hands anymore. They were still there, but he didn't want to look and see what happened to them. Instead, he looked harder into the light, blinding himself again and again as he looked straight into the piercing flame of eternity.

* * *

Aang screamed and blinked back to the world of the living. A millisecond later a hand clamped over his mouth and Sokka shushed loudly into his ear.

"Aang! What's wrong!?" Katara worried.

Aang panted and planted a clammy hand on his forehead. He screwed his eyes shut and swallowed. It was not an experience he was going to forget in a hurry. He never wanted to go through that again, but Katara's presence on his arm reminded him that there were other things at stake besides himself.

"Nothing's wrong," Aang shook his head sullenly, and re-assumed his position, "just...just give me a second..."

Sokka did nothing to interrupt, as he wanted to get out as badly as either of them. To Katara's surprise the militiaman was growing closer as well. The monk took a deep breath and started again.

* * *

"Lieutenant..." Zuko gently needled.

"Sorry, sir! Signal cut out for a second, just re-affirming..." Gakki swivelled the knobs on the Instrument, scribbled down on his notebook, then swivelled some more. He fixed the position by use of other radio transmitters scattered across East Asia, using their signals as buoy markers, "okay! Relay 7...37 degrees North-East, distance...327km! Signal...224 degrees!"

"_Lieutenant_ ," Zuko needled more firmly, "can I stop you for a second?"

Gakki paused, took off his headphones and turned, "sir?"

Zuko whipped the map around and showed it to Gakki. Pencil lines firmly etched into it, slicing East Asia into quadrants and either intersecting several times or not intersecting at all. Zuko's stern gaze communicated the sentiment, "this isn't very helpful."

"But..." Gakki blinked pathetically before defending himself, "sir! The signal's never been this clear! It's only now I've been able to fix precise co-ordinates!"

"Then that's quite the cocked-hat you've produced," Zuko looked down at the map and back up at his technician, "either you screwed up or the Qoghusula is in several places at once. Which is it?"

Gakki's eyes bulged. He had close to what a scientist would consider to be a religious awakening, and muttered in awe "super-position..."

Zuko scowled and threw the map behind him onto the desk irritably, "_assume I don't know what a super-position is!_"

"It's...oh my god...it's a principle of quantum mechanics!" Gakki sped around and hurriedly burned equations into his notebook. He was in his element, "theoretically, at the sub-atomic level, it's possible for an object to be in more than one place simultaneously. Its properties are effectively unknown, since as soon as it's observed it becomes something different. The act of observation changes it and turns it into something else. For that reason, you can never entirely know the physical make-up of anything, as simply recording it modifies it. It's called the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle."

"Hang on," Zuko put the brakes on this physics lesson, "is this something to do with that 'Schrödinger's cat' nonsense you told me about?"

"Yes, sir," Gakki ignored the implied insult and continued scribbling for dear life, "because a particle's presence can be implied to be in several places, in effect it _is _in several places, as there is no way to effectively record where it is in any one moment. It is only when it is observed that its status becomes fixed, and only then as a property of which it was _not_ a moment before. This is possible at the micro-level, but at the macro-level constant observation keeps things steady. To achieve this kind of quantum activity in a relativistic universe would require making your entire body an _unknown quantity_."

"...'the Empty One'..." Zuko remarked. He had been around Gakki enough to _just about _keep up with this horrifically confusing conversation, and when the implications finally burrowed into his skull a realisation burst forth. Back in Mongolia, he had witnessed the Qoghusula transposing himself in the attic and another place, and only fixed on this time and space _because Zuko saw him there_. Thinking out loud, Zuko muttered to himself "...fierce destroyer of illusion who dispels every obstruction... remove all inner, outer and secret obstacles... spontaneously fulfil all our aspirations..."

"So you did read that book of prayers I got you for your birthday!" Iroh leaned up and beamed, "you've made me the happiest uncle around, dear nephew..."

Major Hinaga ignored his relative, leaned forward and demanded, "why didn't we pick this up the last time!?"

"Our proximity must have drowned out the other possible locations the Qoghusula was present in," Gakki grew excited, "this is extraordinary! Quantum mechanics is only supposed to reflect the sub-atomic level! There has been disagreement for years on where quantum physics ends and Einsteinian relativity begins, and here we have a human individual who can take the principles of the micro-universe and apply them to the _macro_-universe! This opens up avenues of scientific enquiry the likes of which I never even dreamed of! A synthesis of general relativity and quantum physics is possible after all!"

"Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Zuko took a step back to check the task at hand, "if the Qoghusula is in this 'super-position', then how do we get him out of it?"

"By looking at him, essentially," Gakki admitted with a shrug, placing his headphones back on to record changes in the signal, "otherwise, we wait until someone else looks at him and see what direction the signal's coming from then."

"But it won't be as strong once he's fixed in one place?" Zuko presumed, "we'll only know where he is approximately?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Gakki fiddled around with switches and scribbled some more.

Zuko nodded disappointedly. It was better than nothing. He commanded, "let me know as soon as the signal changes."

"Entering T'ung-liao, everybody!" the driver announced.

* * *

"It's coming from the lavatory!" one soldier called, busting open the creaky, smelly door at the end of the carriage.

"No! No! It's louder near the ceiling!" another soldier steadied himself on top of a chair cushion, and when he inevitably lost balance he took a crate of empty beer bottles tucked inside the luggage rack with him.

"_This_ carriage?" the Colonel asked wearily, ignoring the clattering and shattering of glass behind him.

"A soldier said he heard a shout, but it ended before he could tell where it was," the Lieutenant reported sceptically, "although given how _everyone's_ been hearing things, I heavily doubt it'll come to anything, sir."

"We're running out of time," Hiroto glanced around, "it's better than nothing."

"Sir!" the Lieutenant was losing his grip, "this is becoming really, spectacularly bizarre! Who _are _these people!? _What _are these people!? Why is an entire division looking for three children?" The junior officer pulled a rolled-up poster from his inside pocket and rolled it out, "and why are these three children scaring the karma out of more than Mao, Chiang, Stalin and Roosevelt combined have ever done!?"

"You ever heard of the Qoghusula, Lieutenant?" the Colonel asked calmly.

"The...pardon, sir?" the Lieutenant winced.

" And you call yourself a Theology graduate..." Hiroto dismissed, "there's a certain group within the Kwantung Army...of which I am proud to call myself a member...that believes that since Japan's mission to bring civilisation to all of Asia is just, holy, and spiritually-sanctioned, then asking said spirits to help us _win_ doesn't sound too outlandish."

"Not too outlandish... sir... " the Lieutenant's mind was starting to splinter around the edges.

"The Qoghusula was a Tibetan Lama with control over time and space who disappeared fifty years ago, according to legend," the Colonel's left eye narrowed, "and 'according to legend' he could do stuff like _this_, so no, it's not 'too outlandish' _at al_-"

The Colonel was stopped mid sentence when he noticed three empty bottles roll past his legs and slowly clink their way up the central aisle. He turned to watch the bottles roll their merry way and asked his adjutant, "isn't that funny?"

"Empty bottles rolling around inside trains is not exactly unheard-of, sir," the Lieutenant pointed out.

Hiroto paid little heed, and instead turned toward the window with one eye shut and a thumb pointing up to gather his bearings, "this train is going up a slight incline, and despite the train being in motion, those bottles are moving _forward_. Do you know what that means, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not sure, sir," the junior officer asked innocently. A second later the Colonel's other hand flew up to the back of his head and propelled his face into the corner of a chair. Hiroto didn't even look at him, and turned towards the moving bottles while his adjutant rubbed his forehead painfully and attempted to still the throbbing sound that accompanied the chanting inside his skull.

"You're an idiot, that's what it means," the Colonel decided, craning his neck as the bottles slowed, then began to twist away to opposite sides of each other. A few seconds later the bottles were circling one another in a wheel, pointing inward at a single spot on the carpet. The commander leant on his knee and smiled, "Lieutenant..."

The junior officer swiftly holstered his aimed pistol and wiped the angry smirk off his own face, pretending nothing had happened, "yes, sir?"

"What do you make of this?" the Colonel asked rhetorically.

* * *

Why was the chanting so familiar? It didn't sound like Aang's voice, but it still sounded comforting and close. It drew her in until it was the only thing she could hear, like falling asleep to the sound of someone's voice. She felt so snug and relaxed that she could have fallen asleep right there. The sudden gnaw of reality and their situation, however, drew her back to alertness. Except that she found she wasn't alert to anything any more. The chanting came to be the only thing she could hear, and now she was paying attention to her surroundings she realised the chanting really _was _the only thing she could hear.

The powder beneath began to solidify and the question occurred to Katara: where on Earth was she?

* * *

Sokka, being less spiritually attuned than the others, had paid close attention to the gradual muffling of his surroundings until the train's chuffing and puffing became a distant melody, and he was finding that his fingers were feeling the wooden walls and baggy floor were increasingly become abstract sensations of 'ground' and 'surface'. It was a rather distressing feeling as the solidity of his surroundings was often what kept him going day after day.

Isolated and scared, the radio buzz began to well up into mumbled and incoherent cries of help from some woman... actually, more than one... and Sokka remained baffled as to what they were. He was garnering the uncomfortable impression that he was supposed to do something. In vain, he listened out for that comforting, gruff, masculine voice he'd heard earlier.

He wanted dad to tell him he was doing everything right.

* * *

Momo fell into a biiig mountain of sawdust, and was very happy.

* * *

Aang was paralysed with indecision. His being was spread across the threads of fate looking for somewhere to drop off at, and found nothing that could have helped them. To make matters worse, the more he clammed up inside his shell, the less he could do. It was all he could do to stay in this place without these two immense weights holding him down...

The answer hit several portions of Aang in an instant. These weren't _weights_. These were _people_! People with their own _histories_! Hurriedly, the boy monk scattered downward to the tangled webs of paths taken, paths not taken and paths yet to take, and unravelled the whole lot of them to start digging.

* * *

"The signal's jumped back up to seven terahertz," Gakki reported, "we'll know he's out of the super-positional state when it drops below one terahertz, although I'd like to point out that it'd be impossible to bounce the signal off of other transmitters at that low a frequency..."

"Never mind that!" Zuko snapped, "just give me a direction!"

* * *

The Colonel hurried over and watched the bottles dance around each other, forming what he believed to be a kind of bullseye. He leant down on one knee and unsheathed his sword, sliding it down the metal edge of the carpet that ran down the aisle. At one, small, point, the sword underneath, and a small section of the floor levered up, ever so slightly. The gaps were so tight as to be unnoticeable, and they could have searched the carriage for months and never found it.

Colonel Hiroto smirked in triumph. The Qoghusula had done the soldier's job for him.

* * *

Sokka and Katara were clustered together in the midst of an empty, dark space, but those footsteps were loud and terrifying intrusions. They huddled into each other and into the unmoving lump that was Aang Anil, and as a small beam of sunlight sliced the air above them, their hearts began beating at a million miles a minute.

"Aang! Do something!" Sokka appealed, throwing caution to the wind.

* * *

A part of Aang tugged quickly on a piece of the unravelled web. It was long and it was sturdy and it felt... nice. Really, surprisingly nice. Past caring what it actually looked like, he gathered himself together and clasped the thread with as much of his being as he could muster.

* * *

"I heard someone!" the soldier at the end of the carriage ran over to the centre of the aisle.

"In here!" the Colonel announced, twisting the sword to lever up a hand-hold and gripping it with his glove.

* * *

Katara closed her eyes tight.

"_Aang!_ " she prayed.

* * *

Aang pulled the thread as hard as possible.

Somewhere, the Qoghusula could feel, the universe shifted a little.

* * *

The Colonel grinned maniacally and tore open the compartment.

* * *

Sunlight burst in from above and gloved hands clawed into the three, yanking them out into the open with uninhibited force.

* * *

"_Got you!_ " Colonel Hiroto sunk his sword into the wood at the bottom of the carriage.

His maniacal grin lingered, even when he saw, in plain daylight, that all he skewered were a couple of bags of a white, powdery substance.

* * *

"West!" Gakki cried.

"Driver! West!" Zuko ordered, planting his hand on his cap as the driver took his orders literally and careered the armoured car straight down a shallow cliff-side.

* * *

Sokka winced as the hands shoved him against the gravel, but his limbs remained limp as he anticipated that something horrible was coming ne- wait a second. _Gravel?_

Sokka dared to open his eyes to see that he was in an open space, around the back of a concrete building. He could hear birds calling, feel cold air on his face, smell the lush woodland a short distance off, and didn't think checking taste was entirely necessary. He levered his head up and saw a rather attractive young Chinese girl wearing a green khaki jacket and trousers, army boots and a flat-cap, wielding a sub-machine gun and scowling at him like he was some kind of a crazy person.

"Why the hell did you think hiding in a coal bin was a good idea?" the girl asked.

* * *

The Colonel left the sword embedded in the compartment, and stood up with an empty look in his eyes. He looked around at his men like they were complete strangers.

"Your orders, sir?" the Lieutenant asked, tilting his head to one side and looking over his commander with a concerned eye. Colonel Hiroto acted like he'd asked him what his favourite colour was in a foreign language. The junior officer repeated, "...sir?"

A distant screech, and the train rumbled gently to a halt. The soldiers looked at each other in confusion as to what was going on, but without orders they were stuck. The Lieutenant didn't feel in a position to carry on the mission, as he came to realise there was no longer a mission to carry on. A few clomping footsteps and a creaking door later, and three black-uniformed Kempeitai officers marched on board and stood to attention a few feet ahead of the Colonel, acting in utter professionalism.

"Sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us," the Kempei informed the commander.

Colonel Hiroto took a minute to fully process what was being asked, and once he had, he shuffled meekly into custody.

* * *

The two armoured cars watched as Hinaga's Extraordinary Operations Unit left the comfort of the mountain-side road and rumbled down into the scraggy, bushy countryside that constituted the north of Jehol province, heading towards the edge of what had been decreed to be the Empire of Manchukuo.

The Captain of the group looked at the line of cars and trucks leaving the nice, level road and assessed their options. He didn't need long to make his mind up, "nuts to this. Contact headquarters and give them Major Hinaga's last known position. Driver, take us back to base. The esteemed Colonel Kokami can sort out his own troubles with his own men."

The wireless operator nodded and relayed the message. The Captain wasn't just speaking for them, but for the whole division.

* * *

The armoured train shunted into a siding and billowed blackly in the dimming sun. There seemed little point in heading to Harbin now. Zhao furrowed his brow and clasped his hands together, listening intently to the reports as they come in.

"The Harbin station operation has been suspended, sir," one of the telephone men at the map wall reported, "no trace of any of the targets."

"Are they following up leads elsewhere?" the Colonel enquired, knowing the answer already.

"No, sir, they're calling off the search," the Captain continued, swallowing slightly, "Colonel Hiroto is being hauled in front of a tribunal for misuse of Kwantung Army resources."

"Sir! Latest word on Major Hinaga's movements!" the radio operator at the communications wall swivelled around and reported, "the Unit under his command was last seen travelling due west through the far north of Jehol province, near the Manchukuo border."

"If he crosses the border, give me the exact location of the crossing," Zhao commanded slowly, anticipating the brick wall he was about to run into.

"We...can't, sir," the radio operator reluctantly told his commander, "Colonel Hara of 9th Division has withdrawn his co-operation with the tracking."

"Contact Colonel Inoue of the 14th, stationed on the Northern Front," Colonel Kokami stressed every syllable in a tired drawl, "have him continue to track Zuko on the other side of the border."

The radio operator winced, unwilling to outright deny his commander's request. The Captain at the map board gratefully stepped in for him.

"That's outside our jurisdiction, sir..." the Captain wound down his furious activity as he cottoned onto the futility of it all. His Lieutenant still worked the phones beside him, as he was dealing with an especially tough customer. Most everyone in the carriage could feel the Colonel's authority ebbing away. Zhao remained silent and waited patiently for the next piece of bad news.

"Sir..." the Lieutenant at the map wall felt like he was giving notice of someone's execution, "...I have General Sonobe on the line. He would like that explanation you promised him..."

"Message from Tokyo, sir!" the wireless operator interrupted the gloom and held up a slip of paper, "it's a response to the Triple-Zero sent earlier..."

Zhao propelled himself out of his seat and snatched the slip of paper. Digesting it with mad eyes, his scowl turned into a grimace. When he couldn't stand the sight of it anymore he scrunched it up between his gloves and looked away.

Deflating, Colonel Kokami turned away from the rest of the carriage and walked slowly, sullenly, wordlessly, towards his office. The soldiers under his command had their eyeballs fixed on him as he opened the door, wondering what their own futures held now.

The door clicked politely shut behind him.

* * *

Time reappeared.

Aang started out of his trance like he had just emerged from deep underwater, and spent a good few seconds panting, wheezing, circulating oxygen and re-adjusting himself to the land of the living. He keeled over and crawled on all fours, blinking and breathing harshly, making sure all his limbs had come along for the trip. He realised his hands were feeling stone, and that there was gravel with blades of grass poking through it, and smiled. The smile turned into immense, relieved laughter. He honestly couldn't believe his luck.

He'd spent far too long drifting through nothingness, trying hard to keep himself constituted in one piece and seconds away from a horrific fate, and now? Now he was he, himself and him, contained in a vessel with a beating heart and seeing eyes and he never felt so _alive_.

The sound of weapons loudly loading rudely shook him out of his reverie, and he slowly twisted his head sideways to see that the three of them were cornered around the back of a building in the middle of a small town square, surrounded by woods and mountains. The people cornering them were all young women in make-shift khaki outfits wielding large black dangerous-looking things that were obviously firearms of some variety.

"You people have some explaining to do," the leader of the soldiers informed the group.

Sokka was kneeling before them with hands pressed together, smiling and giggling in terror and sweating buckets. Katara was also kneeling, but after the immensely frightening last hour or so, she had gone over the line from blind trauma to a fine appreciation of the absurd. She turned to Aang, smiled ironically, shrugged and gave off a funny little laugh.

Aang groaned and smacked his forehead into the gravel. This thread of time and destiny was meant to be long-lasting, nice and pleasant. He was left with the irritating feeling that the universe had conned him somehow.

Momo squeaked mournfully as he missed his mountain of sawdust.

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-08

* * *

**Author's Note: **

There we have it! One more chapter and Part Two is wrapped up. No telling when the next segment will be, given that my connection is back up and even now the web is sucking up my free time in its maelstrom of pop cultural nonsense, but being this close to a conclusion of sorts tends to spur me on.

Lots of foreshadowing this chapter, including a certain thematic linkage that's going to be very important in the parts to come. Again, many thanks to Assault Sloth not just for proof-reading but for providing a spirited discussion as to how to improve it. I may not have taken all of his suggestions on board, but I'm grateful for their popping up.


	20. Pt 2 Ch 10: Gentle Eye Of The Kamikaze

Zhao pressed his back against the closed door and exhaled, letting the pressure release

Zhao pressed his back against the closed door and exhaled, letting the pressure release. The pressure didn't seem to want to leave so he just let every muscle drop and did the best he could. He lazily looked at his desk and realised that the woman sitting in his chair had half-swivelled in his direction and looked out of the corner of her eye with some interest, New York Times folded on her lap and her cigarette twirling smoke towards the ceiling. The gramophone was straining to the sound of Puccini, which struck Zhao as a little too ironic for its own good. The Colonel was utterly annoyed...even when his career was going down in flames around him, he couldn't even be allowed the luxury of a private place to drown his sorrows in.

Azula smiled.

"You look like someone about to commit Hari Kiri," she quipped, taking a sharp inhalation of her cigarette, throwing the newspaper onto the desk and swivelling around to face Zhao, "_please _don't. I've seen it before. It's messy, it's obnoxious, there isn't an ounce of dignity in it, and it throws the entire administrative framework into a blind fit trying to work its way around your corpse."

Zhao listened quietly and made no attempt to force Azula out of his chair. Even with things as bleak as they were, there were still things Zhao could lose. He felt little harm in asking, "if you've a vested interest in keeping me from doing anything stupid, maybe you could help me out?"

"Ooh! A little _demanding_, aren't we?" Azula leaned forward, resting her cigarette-holding arm on its elbow and giving Zhao a calculative, sultry look, "who said I had a vested interest in anything? Do what you wish. I'm just a humble passenger."

Zhao scowled, resting hands on hips, "how much do you know about our situation?"

"Enough to know that you really should have seen this coming," Azula's eyes drifted down to the scrunched piece of paper in his hand, "if my eyes don't deceive me, that's an ULTRA Triple-Zero message from Imperial General Headquarters in Tokyo. Knowing you, it's probably denying a request you made for extra-ordinary levels of authority to complete the task you're on."

The chair swivelled aside and Azula turned to smoking while looking out the window at the Manchurian countryside. The day was dying, but in mid-summer days like these there was still plenty of light this late. She liked the effect the light made in forming dust motes in the air, very aware that it was a potent metaphor for countless metaphysical concepts. A human being could read anything into anything, so might as well pick something that looked pretty to carry some artificial meaning.

"Going over the heads of the Kwantung Army and appealing straight to Tokyo...not very smart," Azula grinned slyly and took another puff, "you of all people must know that the Kwantung Army has friends in very high places, and aren't keen on one of their own getting uppity and forgoing all the secret handshakes that go into getting promoted. For a man with so many connections and lines of influence that was rather..._incautious_."

"I felt the circumstances justified extra-ordinary measures," Zhao conferred cagely. He didn't know how much Azula knew about his 'circumstances' and wasn't about to give away more than was strictly necessary.

"Normally, I'd agree with you, "Azula stubbed out her cigarette on Zhao's pristine and expensive ash-tray, and pressed her hands together while looking at the ceiling in thought, "but the question then becomes...why do _you _need these measures, specifically? Members of your faction within the Kwantung Army aren't exactly renowned for their mental stability. Take Colonel Hiroto. The moment the mission turned against him, he had a nervous breakdown. As of now he's restrained in the back of a van heading to Hsinking, sucking his thumb and asking if he could get off a train to see his mother. _That's _the kind of person who subscribes to your view of the world, Colonel Kokami."

Zhao looked around the office. How in the world was she _getting_ this information? He straightened himself out and pointed out "I think you'll find my ideals are perfectly in concert with your father's ideals, Miss Hinaga."

"My father's ideals..." Azula tipped herself over and opened the bottom drawer of Zhao's desk, leafing through stuffed telegrams and ordinance surveys from months ago and drawing out a rarely-thumbed hardback book, down the side of which was written in kana and kanji 'Forging A National Spirit –Ozai Hinaga' in slightly flaked gold lettering, "...which as we speak are making their journey through the Japanese school curriculum..." Azula leafed half-interestedly through the pages of the book, "...are an amalgamation of concepts stemming from the theory of freedom which supposes that _true _freedom comes from recognition by others, building up a shared national community in which everyone is collectively free...a 'spirit' that is more than the sum of its parts. Although the theory had antecedents in the writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, its first true formulation was first made by Friedrich Hegel in the early 19th Century."

Azula slammed the book shut with one hand, shunting Zhao out of his befuddlement. Despite being shorter than him, Azula still somehow managed look down upon him, "do you even know who Hegel is?"

Zhao's temper was beginning to fray. He didn't enjoy being made to feel stupider than a 15-year-old girl. But at this juncture he didn't feel had much say in the matter, so he let her talk to bring her ever so slightly closer to 'the point' of this narrative.

"My father modified these ideas through the concept of 'will' as expounded by Friedrich Nietzsche..." Azula dumped the book in another, roomier, desk drawer.

"Oh! Now I've heard of Friedrich Nietzsche," Zhao felt a rare opportunity of showing off. He'd read every word of Nietzsche.

"Of course you have. _Everyone's _heard of Friedrich Nietzsche," Azula slammed the desk drawer shut and scoffed loudly, "he's the patron saint of faux-intellectuals. He's convinced a generation of young men that all they need is a bad hairdo, an axe to grind and some kind of mental disorder to make themselves look 'profound'. If you really want to prove your mettle as a philosopher, try getting into Heidegger's 'Being and Time' and out the other side without throwing yourself out of a window. Only a small minority have managed that feat."

"And let me guess, "Zhao interrupted bitterly, "you're one of them?"

Azula smiled and shrugged. She wasn't going to reveal anything about herself. Not yet, anyway. She wandered away towards the gramophone, leaning forward to pull the needle away from the spinning vinyl disc. A loud squeak terminated the opera, and Azula commented "Puccini can be so _dire _at times. Let's try something a bit more upbeat."

"Miss Hinaga, I hate to be forward, but I have pressing matters to attend to," Colonel Kokami attempted to nudge Azula towards the end of her meanderings, but the young Japanese girl in the classy uniform seemed in no mood to hurry things. She flipped another record seemingly out of nowhere and laid it on the gramophone. A brief crackle and the office came to be filled with the peppy and pleasing sound of jazz manouche.

"You do? That's definitely news, " Azula twirled around and started swaying and clicking her fingers in time with the music, "c'mon! Unwind! So you have long years of unemployment to look forward to? Kierkegaard supposed that it's only in adversity that we truly define ourselves. That's another 'Hegelism' too. The 'master/slave' relationship. In the early days of human conflict one side decided to back down and become slaves of the other. While the slave acquired self-consciousness, the master rested on his laurels. So when the slave overthrew the master, the master turned out the better for it. Who knows? Maybe the same will happen to you."

"Do you really believe that?" Zhao cocked an eyebrow at this girl's behaviour.

"Not really. Name-calling dead Germans just makes me look smart," Azula paused her swaying in thought, "though Kierkegaard was actually Danish..."

"Miss Hinaga, might I ask why you're _drowning _me in degeneracy, here?" Zhao was becoming uncomfortable from being buffeted by Russians, Italians, Danes, New Yorkers and Louisianan-inspired Frenchmen.

"Since you're taking that attitude, no, you can't," Azula smiled deviously, putting hands on tilted hips, "you're a pretty canny man. I'd hesitate to say _smart_, but I'm sure you could figure it out, given time. You seem to be a man in search of time, and just by chance I can point you to where you can grab some. For example...I _think _I spy a time-stamp of 1753 on that telegram. Am I right?"

Zhao scowled and unscrunched the paper in his hands, and found that the time at the top was stamped as 1753 hours. He also found that there was no way she could have known that. Someday, he had to figure out how she did these things.

Azula didn't wait for an answer, and pulled a slip of paper from her left breast pocket, "funnily enough, and completely coincidentally, I have a message from Tokyo here stamped 1757. Just as coincidentally, it has your name on it..." Zhao's eyes popped, and he let the slip he was holding drop to snatch the paper out of Azula's loose hand. She continued "people in government can be so fickle. A stray word from a stray official can sway the lot of them. In a way, governments are like lovers. One moment they're cold, cruel and distant, then the next they're giving you more than you even asked for."

The more Zhao read, the more his smile widened. His smile turning more malicious and calculative when the implications set in. He clenched in fist in triumph. His gamble had paid off. In fact, it hadn't just paid off, it deluged him in winnings. A whole new universe of possibilities opened up before him, and abruptly he realised who he had to thank for this. He coughed loudly and bowed respectfully, "I shall endeavour to carry my new position exclusively for the glory of the Chrysanthemum Throne and act in the best traditions of the Imperial Japanese Mili-"

"General, you can gloat if you really feel like it," Azula pulled a cigarillo case from her right breast pocket and poked a cigarette with her holder, taking a silver lighter out of a back pocket and lighting the cigarette with practised ease. She took a puff and blew smoke in Zhao's direction before speaking "just keep in mind the man who spoke up for you at IGHQ, and read his book _properly _this time."

Lieutenant General Kokami's vicious smile returned, and he turned around and burst through the office door with renewed vigour, wasting no time in enacting his new-found authority. Azula smiled her own calculating smile and walked back to the comfortable swivel chair, relaxing with lit cigarette prized between her pointed, painted fingernails. The chair swivelled slowly around while Azula clicked her fingers to the music until its back faced the desk. The office door closed of its own accord.

* * *

"Okay! There's...there _is _a perfectly good explanation for this..." Sokka stammered.

"Throw it over," the armed, assertive, khaki-clad woman jabbed her submachine gun in Sokka's direction.

"...throw...what over?" Sokka peered forward and squinted. The sound of palm impacting against face resounded loudly from Katara's direction.

"I thought you might have a bag of marbles, and I wanted to play a while," the woman smiled whimsically before scowling harder, "what d'ya _think _I'm telling you ta throw over!? Get that pea-shooter off your back and put on the ground in front of you! Hands far apart, two fingers each, and _keep 'em where I can see 'em!_"

"Okay..." Sokka carefully and gingerly prized the rifle off of his back and laid it in front of him, "okay, look, I _know _what this looks like, but if I can just see the man in charge, I can explain, and you'll see this is all a simple misunderstanding."

"Grab it," the soldier ordered another khaki-clad woman, who leant down to pick up the piece while the others kept their eyes and weapons peeled. They all wore flat-caps, jackets and jeans underneath their ammo belts and green armbands, and the additional yellow armband on the opposite arm of the Chinese woman asking the questions indicated that she was the leader, "you can explain to me. I'm the one in charge."

"Eheh..." Sokka took it for a joke. The visual hints passed him by entirely, "no, really, take me to the man in charge. I'm sure he'd be very happy that you're so eager, but if he's out, I can wait."

Sokka's temperature dropped when the soldier loudly re-loaded her weapon. She squinted fiercely, "you're _reeeaaally _pushing your luck, friend."

"Suki...they're unarmed..." a fellow soldier whispered with uncertainty.

"Sure...but they also might be spies," the leader, Suki, responded loudly enough for the prisoners to hear, "and no matter where you are, the penalty for spying is _immediate _and _terminal_. Being armed or unarmed has nothing to do with it."

"We're not spies!" Katara scrabbled forward and spoke up, provoking a flurry of barrels being pointed at her. She stopped and stilled herself, trying hard to remain calm. She took a deep breath and spoke in a level tone, "we're Mongolians. We're escorting this monk here to Tibet."

Suki leant to one side to peer at the boy monk. Aang was sitting cross-legged on the gravel and smiled and waved uneasily upon mention of himself. The Chinese soldier peered back at Katara suspiciously, "so you brought him through here and stuffed yourselves in a coal bin? At what precise point is this story supposed to start making sense?"

"Well..." Katara was at a loss as to whether or not to mention the whole travelling-through-space-and-time shenanigans, "we...got lost."

"Bag," Suki asserted, having had enough of this nonsense, "empty it. No funny business."

Katara deflated herself, and promptly took her satchel off of herself and tipped it upside-down, emptying its contents onto the gravel. Food tins, a water pouch, packets of rice, fruit, a slightly tattered journal, spare blankets, maps and documents flapped across the ground. Katara was very economical in saving space. Suki leant down and picked up the most incriminating piece of evidence, the journal, and flicked through to a random page while Katara sullenly and silently scolded her.

"Mongolian," the soldier remarked, shutting the book tight between her fingers. She thought for a while then said, "I suppose that backs up a part of your story, though we can't be sure until we find someone who can read this stuff."

"Suki..." one of her subordinates had knelt down to pick up the slightlyused map that had pencil-marks on it, and stood up to show it to her superior. This was one of the more obvious signs that this wasn't a typical military unit...they all called their senior officer by her first name. Suki looked at the map, seeing the traced route from Hailar to Harbin.

"Okay, now this is where your story starts getting downright odd," Suki looked up from the map, "you're escorting a monk from Mongolia to Tibet, and you not only take by far and away the most dangerous route to get there, but you take the _long way round _through Manchuria."

"Ah, that's...heh...that's kind of a funny story, really. Y'see...uh..." Sokka blagged, and paused to let his head catch up, "...y'see...we're from the really far eastern end of Mongolia and...uh...the People's Army kinda got wind Aang was there so...we didn't have much choice really. We skidaddled outta Mongolia the nearest way possible."

Suki winced at Sokka, "that's not a funny story. That's downright depressing."

"I guess you had to be there..." Sokka shrugged.

"And it still doesn't explain why you're hiding in a coal bin in this little town of ours," Suki glanced down at the map, "far as I can tell, you were heading south through Beijing, and if that's where you were aiming for then I gotta say you missed pretty spectacularly."

"Oh?" Katara asked, "where are we?"

Suki's face froze, and she handed the map back to the nearest soldier to collect herself, "you honestly don't know where we are?"

"Sorry...my brother's path-finding skills are a little rough..." Katara attempted to be as friendly as she could to the clearly authoritative woman before her, "we got...ah...sidetracked and wandered in accidentally. We didn't mean to cause you trouble."

"I have people stationed all around this town making sure the Japanese stick to their bargain," Suki explained, "I have eyes peeled so tightly I'd know if a rat scuttled through in the middle of the night. There's no way you could've 'wandered in' without us knowing _unless _you were trying really hard to hide yerselves. Which, to me, screams '_spy_'."

"Wait...bargain?" Sokka noticed the meagre thread of exposition and wished to use it as a lifeline, "what d'ya mean? What bargain?"

"We're asking the questions, stranger," Suki challenged, "we've kept this town safe from war for nearly thirty years, and I'll be damned if anything threatens it on my watch. Normally I'd let people like you carry on with your journey, maybe stay at our lovely inn and enjoy our wonderful local cuisine, but there's one thing that you keep side-stepping every time I ask you about it. _How did you get inside that bin without anyone spotting you!?_"

"We...uh..." Katara clammed up. She had nothing to fall back on whatsoever. Sokka was at the end of his abilities himself, leaving Aang to look up between themselves and the female soldiers. Their presence here was completely inexplicable, in the most literal sense. Aang heaved a sigh and crawled over to Katara, face leaden with uncertainty.

"(Katara...)" he whispered heavily, "(...I think we should tell them)."

"(Tell them you're a reincarnated demi-god with power over time and space?)" Sokka whispered urgently back at them, "(yeah! That'll go down well!)"

"(Aang, it's too dangerous)," Katara beseeched, "(we can't expose ourselves like that)."

" (Look, I know it's dangerous to tell people)," Aang reasoned, "(but right now don'tcha think it'd be more dangerous to _not _tell them?)"

"(We don't even know who they are)," Katara shook her head, her expression weighted with worry.

"(Whoever they are, we know they're not with the Japanese)," Sokka reasoned, before sighing at the easy puncturing of those simple plans of mice and men, "(I don't like it any more than you do, but I got nuthin'. Aang, I don't know how you're going ta pull this off, but you better do something before we're pumped full of holes)."

Aang swallowed at the thought, but a steady hand on his shoulder reassured him. Katara paused, pushed her worries out of her mind, then smiled a sweet smile at the monk, "(whatever you decide, I'm with you all the way)."

Aang smiled back. All his worries disappeared for a split second inside her smile.

"Care if I interrupt the conference for a second?" Suki stuck a finger up in the air and crouched lower. Despite her steadfastness, she could tell a close-knit group of friends when she saw one, "I'm still waiting for my explanation."

Aang took a deep breath, raised his hands, stood up and looked Suki in the eye. He began, "this is going to sound really bizarre, but...I'm the Qoghusula."

Suki got the feeling that she should be shocked and amazed, but she ended up simply confused, "...run that past me again?"

Aang grunted irritably, and elaborated, "I'm a reincarnated Tibetan tulku who is in touch with the void that underpins existence and can manipulate all space and time." Suki listened carefully and opened her mouth to comment, but all that came out was a strangled squeal of befuddlement. Aang looked down at the ground in embarrassment and muttered "...told you it was going to sound bizarre."

"We found him in the mountains in eastern Mongolia, near the border, a few days ago," Katara filled in, "the last he remembered, he was in Tibet 50 years ago."

"Then this crazy Japanese guy with his own unit attacked us," Sokka chipped in, "he'd been searching for the Qoghusula and tracked him down to our village. That's how we found out who he was."

"They rescued me, and since then we've been going to Tibet to help me use my...uh...'abilities'..." Aang added nervously, "I don't know how, but somehow the Kwantung Army found us out and trapped us in a train in Harbin. That was just a few minutes ago. We hid and I...well I...I got us out of there and we ended up in your coal bin."

Suki was open-mouthed at the craziness of them all. She absent-mindedly grabbed the map from one of her subordinates and looked at the pencilled dotted line heading down from Hailar. It cut off at Harbin. There was no way this story could have been true.

"The Kwantung Army is probably searching for us right now. They got posters of us and everything," Sokka concluded, standing slowly to his own two feet as a measure of trust, "so...this is gonna sound a bit cheeky, but...we need sanctuary. Bad."

Sokka's humble honesty melted a portion of Suki's resolve, and for a brief flickering moment looked him in the eye and earnestly believed she needed to help these people.

"So...can we see the guy in charge now?" Sokka implored with a cheesy smile, provoking another bout of forehead-slapping from Katara. Suki pursed her lips, narrowed her gazed, scrunched up the map and threw it into the gravel. Both hands returned to the sub-machine gun.

"I don't know whether you should be shot or institutionalised," Suki decided, "I gotta say you've got your work cut out for you if you want me to believe your crazy story. 'Your word' ain't gonna cut it, I'm afraid."

"Well..." Aang looked around at the other, equally resolute, women soldiers. It was at that point that he noticed, behind them, a growing number of onlookers of all ages and sexes...except adult males, which was interesting. It seemed to be a similar make-up to Usutai, except the locals seemed to respond to the pressures of a lack of menfolk in a remarkably different way.

This didn't give Aang any more insight into how he was going to get out of the mess he was in. He asked resignedly, "...what should I do?"

"I don't know. You're the one who can 'control time and space'," Suki answered in all reasonableness. In spite of her fierceness, she still felt obligated to accommodate anything that might have helped these poor, confused people get out of their situation alive. Actually shooting them was strictly a last resort she wanted more than anything to avoid. She commanded, "so control time and space."

Aang looked around a bit more for clues. Taking them somewhere else was out of the question, firstly because it was hard enough the first time around without having women soldiers staring at them while he sat in a circle and chanted, secondly because even arriving in this specific place in one piece was tantamount to a fluke, and thirdly because if he ever stared into a blinding light hotter than the centre of the sun again it'd be a billion years too soon. Instead he tried to think of what else he'd done, no matter how unintentionally, that was weird enough to satisfy the questioning gaze of Suki.

The town was mostly of stone construction, with relatively simple, utilitarian roof tiles. It wasn't a large place, as he could see the buildings running out some distance down the gravel road. It was a lush grassland valley surrounded on all sides by shallow mountains, black in the shadow of the low sun in the sky. It was a beautiful place, but Suki wasn't lying when she said they could spot a rat approaching in pitch darkness. He could spy a heavily guarded watch-tower some distance off outside the town, looking over the dirt track out of town that led over a narrow dip in the ridge surrounding the place.

His concentration was increasingly put off by the burgeoning band of onlookers, but he did spy something that tapped his memory. Around the back of one building was a flume carrying water from a distant, unseen freshwater stream. It was barely more than a slow dribble, but he remembered the one time when he was able to make a moving object stop just by screwing his eyes shut and concentrating. Admittedly, that object was a hair's breadth from blowing his head off when he stopped it, but he supposed that meant it would be easier if he tried stopping an object that _wasn't _about to blow his head off. No sooner had he decided, then the crippling self-doubt flooded in.

"Okay, I _think _I got an idea, but..." Aang blushed as he stepped up to demean himself, "the thing is...I don't...really..._know _how to do this stuff. I mean...I know I _can _do this stuff, but a lot of it was by accident. I mean...I'm saying 'I mean' a lot...I mean I don't even know how I managed to get us here. We were in a hidey-hole in a moving train, I meditated for a bit and then...well...a lot of crazy things happened. Crazy, unpredictable, freaky, mind-blowing things and...besides the whole holding us at gunpoint you all seem pretty nice, so I don't really want to risk...blowing you up."

Suki nodded through this, listening carefully, and finally said, "so I take it the gist of this preamble is that you're able to teleport from Manchuria but you don't think you can do anything like that _right now_."

"Uh...yeah..." Aang deflated.

"That's handy," Suki noted suspiciously.

"Aang," Katara sidled up to the boy monk and rested an arm on his shoulder, saying soothingly, "you got an idea, yes?"

"...yeah, I do..." Aang relaxed as the warmth of Katara's hand drifted down through the fabric of his jacket, "I'm gonna see if I can stop the water in that flume over there. It's the only thing I can think of."

"If you think you can do it, then go for it," Katara leaned over and smiled.

"But...I'm not sure if I _can_..." Aang protested quietly.

"I've just seen you save our lives with that gift you have," Katara tugged Aang to one side and looked the Tibetan straight in the eye, "I _know _you can do this."

Aang didn't respond straight away, but took a deep, long breath to clear his head and mentally prepare himself. Silence passed, and even the onlookers hushed as it seemed like something Very Important was about to take place in their little town. Aang opened his eyes and nodded, facing the women soldiers, "okay. Can you take me to that flume over there?"

Suki looked behind herself, and couldn't see the harm in it, so she turned back and waved her gun in the flume's direction, shifting the three forward under close watch. Aang stepped uneasily towards the flume, seeing the glittering silky and clear water flow past unimpeded, glowing orange in the late evening sun. He looked at his reflection and stared down himself, daring his own uncertainty to surface. Thankfully, it backed down, and he took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles, holding his hands out for all to see.

"Behold!" Aang announced theatrically, "witness in amazement as the Qoghusula ceases the flow of this mighty torrent of water!"

"It's not _that _mighty..." an old man amongst the on-lookers pointed out.

"It's a _little _mighty..." a house-wife next to him argued, "I seen flumes around this area only half as big as that one."

Sokka was devolving into uncontrollable sniggering, which earned a sharp elbow jab from Katara. Aang coughed irritably at the interruption and tried again, "all right! Witness in amazement as the Qoghusula ceases the flow of this _moderately _mighty torrent of water! _Using nothing but his amaaazing mind!_"

Aang closed his eyes and waved his arms before him majestically. Eventually after a brief period of failed concentration he mentally kicked himself. What was he _doing_? He wasn't a bearded mystic sorcerer on a rain swept mountain-top, he was a _monk_. A _Buddhist monk_. Who did _Buddhist monk _things. Instead of trying to stop the flow of the stream through the telekinetic power of his hands, he relegated himself to pressing his palms together and bowing his head toward the flume, a traditional act of blessing that Buddhists engaged in. It made some sense. After all, while meditating he was reflecting on himself and his own intrinsic existence as non-existence...or something similar. Blessing, on the other hand, was directed at _something else_. Hopefully, by blessing the flume, it would be so chuffed at being admired for its own sake that it would pause to repay the complement. That made sense in his head.

How did he do it last time? He stared into the face of death and leapt back, taking a bit of it with him for a brief moment. That seemed ridiculously morbid when applied to the gentle, flowing flume, so he had to figure out a way to manage this state that didn't involve being about to die. Recreating that moment in his head, that was only a couple of days ago but felt like an eternity, when he was half-concussed and staring at a strange metal object, and Katara crying his name in anguish cacophonously inside his skull, senses heightened and yet deadened, one step removed from everything.

He opened his eyes just a peek...still flowing.

Grunting in disappointment, he concentrated harder, trying to visualise the flow of the stream inside his head. The water cascaded before him, beginning at a freshwater lake somewhere and ending in a reservoir somewhere else. A hundred times he mentally froze the image, but he still heard the stream flowing past in his ears, so that wasn't any good. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a strange, cold feeling of entrapment that he couldn't entirely shake off. He knew this was a bad idea, he decided. How could he have stopped a small bit of a stream anyway? If he stopped the flow of water before him, what happened to the water a little way ahead, or a little way behind? After all, the stream came from somewhere and went to somewhere.

In fact, when he thought about it, the stream didn't even have an end. Eventually it would either become part of a person's blood stream, or evaporated into the sky to become clouds, or used to douse a fire and sizzled away on the spot, and all three outcomes could have arisen from the same drop of water. The water of the whole town mixing and interweaving in the reservoir, an arbitrary hole in the ground or a barrel or something that stored water temporarily before it moved to other places. Topped up constantly by this very flume.

He was so caught up in this self-mocking train of thought that he had no idea what he was doing.

* * *

The rapid detour by Major Hinaga's Unit had not done wonders for the state of the Chiyoda's suspension, although thankfully the border crossing was at the top of an incline so brakes wouldn't be an issue. If the driver had any say about it, he would've preferred to avoid inclines altogether until they were in a position to make repairs, but this particular incline was impossible to avoid... considering it was part of the Great Wall of China and everything.

"I never get tired of that view," Iroh sighed, peering out a small slit in the metal side of the armoured car, "how many times would you reckon we passed this way?"

"Exactly one time too often..." Zuko murmured, peering forward through the driver's forward slits. What little light penetrated the dark interior had long turned orange in hue, and was dimming rapidly. There were to be no marvelling of sunsets over the ancient man-made barrier that arbitrarily defined the Manchukuo border, not that Zuko was particularly inclined to do anything of the sort.

The atmosphere inside was tense, but for the moment panic had subsided. They had little clue where the Qoghusula was now, but they took heart that the Kwantung Army had even less of a clue than they did. For the moment, they had the advantage, and after the setbacks over the last 48 hours it was a great morale boost. Iroh had relaxed the most, having been just a _little _worried back there, while Zuko hadn't eased a muscle. Gakki's ears were too plugged into his headphones to notice the change in mood.

Gravel crunched as barbed-wire fences were dragged aside away from the Chiyoda's path. Wedged in-between a sizeable gap in the wall, a red and white pole barred the Unit's way, attended and watched over by a sturdy wooden sentry post. The flag of the rising sun fluttered in the early evening breeze atop the border post's watchtower. The post was sparsely manned but formidably armed, and a senior Corporal wielding a clipboard waved the Chiyoda to a halt. A small port in the side of the car opened to allow Zuko to lean out and talk to the soldier.

"Identification, sir?" the Corporal asked politely, taking out a pencil for imminent use but keeping his rifle slung closely around his back.

"IJA Extra-Ordinary Operations Unit. Major Zuko Hinaga commanding," Zuko spieled, in a cogent enough mood to do things by the book this time instead of glaring his authorisation through.

The Corporal scrolled down the list on his clipboard, brow furrowing with every box he skipped over. He addressed the officer, "sorry, sir. We've received no authorisation to let you through this checkpoint."

"Don't need any," Zuko flashed up a crumpled, aged, but still very flashy document with an incredibly important signature carefully preserved at the bottom. The Corporal eyed the document and was suitably impressed.

"No, you certainly don't, sir," the Corporal stepped back and waved the barrier up. There was a slight hesitation on the part of the Kwantung Army soldiers manning the pole, but news had spread about what happened in Hailar and the poorly-paid Privates were not in any special mood to be embarrassed and run over by an obsessive adolescent loon. The barrier raised and the Corporal extended formal greetings, intentionally avoiding the convoluted patterns of respect reserved for people of status. "Have a safe trip, sir!" the soldier smiled, "welcome to...uh..."

The soldier turned to nearby compatriot, "hey...Sameji...what's this place called this week?"

Zuko's Unit didn't stay to find out, since the given title of Japanese-occupied China was a matter of frankly academic interest. Instead, gravel was ground under the tires of the convoy and the vehicles churned through the open barrier to the other side of the Great Wall, rolling into the vast multicoloured vista of China proper.

It was a breath-taking view, a small microcosm of the vast country of China, with desert lands visible in the far north, waterways glistening in the distant south, a web of fields to the left and lush forests to the right. All of it could be seen by the naked eye from this vantage point, coming down the incline that the Great Wall was strategically built on over 2,000 years ago. It was like a teasing taster of the treasures to be unlocked by any prospective invader stupid enough to take on the Chinese Empire. All of it could be theirs...if only they could get through the Wall.

Even Genghis Khan hadn't managed to breach it. His hordes snuck in the back way via the Gobi desert, and even that method took a decade to bear fruit. The Manchus got through the Wall by being _invited _in. If one discounted subterfuge and backhanded tactics, an invader could take millennia to breach the Great Wall.

Then in one gentle Spring in 1933, it took the Japanese 3 months.

"Lieutenant!" Zuko called, pulling a heavily-used map out of an overhead compartment and spreading it out over his desk, "status report on the Signal!"

"It's getting a little _weird_, sir," Gakki was rapidly multi-tasking between fiddling with the controls, inspecting the displays, listening to the buzzing and whirring that crackled through the airwaves, and scribbling horrendously complex equations in his notebook, "it's like every time I turn my back, this son of a bitch changes the laws of physics!"

"Care to _elaborate_, Lieutenant?" Zuko demanded testily, plotting their position on the map of northern China with a grubby, badly sharpened pencil.

"The signal frequency has returned to its regular level after that spike an hour ago, but its _strength _has been diminishing to a point where it's getting hard to read. Lower than I've ever registered it, but very gradually, over the last few minutes," Gakki twisted a few knobs just to make sure, "I think this has to be a temporary thing. At this rate we'll soon have to switch to long-wave radio, and _that _can't be right."

"Never mind that, _where _is it?" Zuko turned to press the question into Gakki's head.

"Uhhh..." Gakki glanced rapidly back and forth, from the Instrument to the map, then back to the Instrument, energetically tabulating figures longer than most human brains were capable of holding. Eventually, in a burst of urgency, the technician reached across and scrawled a wide circle on the map, some miles west of their position, calling "there! ...approximately."

"...I don't suppose you can be any more specific?" Zuko looked at the circled area. It wasn't any wider than the area they had found in Mongolia, but the difference was vital. Usutai was the only village for dozens of miles in all directions, somewhere near the edge of the range they had discovered. In the area Gakki had circled just now, there were at least a hundred settlements.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Gakki seated himself again, but addressed his commander respectfully, "I can try looking over the last few readings of the spike, but given that I'm not Niels Bohr, I can't honestly say when I'll be able to decipher them."

"Try your best," Zuko ordered. There wasn't much force in it, after this long, exhausting day of car chases, hundred-mile road trips and quantum physics. On top of that, his uncle's incessant pipe-smoking was making him nauseous. He pinched the bridge of his nose and concentrated hard on the countryside inside the scrawled pencil mark, "for now, we do it the old-fashioned way. We methodically check every village, follow every lead, and _ask nicely_."

"I suppose I could offer my services there," Iroh considered haughtily, "I mean no injury, my nephew, but your people skills do leave a lot to be desired."

"Can I snook a peek, sir?" the driver scrunched aside and held an arm out. The Major handed over the map and the driver inspected it with an expert's eye, "hmm...Xilingol Grassland, north Chahar Province." The old man handed the map back and addressed his commander in the eye, "'s close ta th' front line. Kwantung Army's gotta hold on it that's tenuous at best."

"After today, I can't think of that as being anything except a _good _thing," Zuko decided, flopping the map onto the desk and peering through the forward port hole, "the Kuomintang won't be a problem this far north, but keep an eye out for Communists. Best possible speed. Keep sharp, and get as much rest as you can. This is going to take a while."

The sense of disappointment in his voice was hard to dispel, but he had the satisfaction of knowing he was at least on the right track. For whatever reason, that didn't make him feel any better.

* * *

...the rain came from the evaporating oceans, which swirled together in a seamless mass older than history itself. Before that, everything was clouds. Before _that_, everything was a giant cloud hurtling through space. And before _any _of that, all water was stardust. Where that last flourish came from, Aang had no idea, but needless to say it was absolute, complete, final proof that stopping a flowing stream was _impossible_.

Aang opened his eyes and found and he was...disappointingly...entirely correct. He sagged, groaned and let his arms drop to his sides, as the flume continued to sparkle, uninterrupted, into the water trough. At the very least his feeling of cold entrapment lifted as he was relieved of the obligation to prove himself. He turned to admit defeat and politely request that they don't shoot him, but something odd befell his vision as he turned. Everyone besides him was gawking either at the stream or himself.

"Uh...did I have something on the back of my head?" Aang wondered, "I got this bump and I always thought it was a birth mark but all the other monks told me I was just being paranoid. That said, if I _do _have one, it's really rude to stare..."

"Aang..." Katara mouthed, half-shocked, "you made the water go _backwards_."

"What?" Aang swung back to the flume and looked carefully at the never-ceasing flow of water. It didn't _look _like it was going backwards, so the idea that it _was _struck him as utterly absurd, "but...but I...I didn't _do _anything..."

"It went _up _out the pool, _up _the flume and _up _the stream to the river. I don't know much about gravity, but I don't think it's meant to do that," Sokka reported, his brain broken from the grotesque lack of logic in all this, "do you see any _other _Qoghusulas who can do crap like that?"

"But I...I...I...I _couldn't _have! I didn't say any magic words or anything! I didn't wave my hands about or levitate or all those other things you're meant to do! So how..." Aang stopped, and remembered what he was thinking as he blessed the stream. He went..._back_...through the stages the stream had to go through. "_Oooooh_..." Aang strangled out the realisation, shockingly impressed at himself.

"Okay..." Suki gathered, nodding her thought processes into coherence, "...okay, your story sounds believable and straightforward. That was very...impressive."

"I actually did it," Aang tried to reconcile reality with his achievement, "I made time go backwards. I can teleport, I can time travel, I can pause and reset the world around me. I...am...the man. I never thought I'd hear these words out of my own mouth but _I am the man_."

"_You da man! _" a small girl in the crowd punched the air and squealed.

"Okay, I wanna show you something else," Aang grinned madly and turned excitedly to Suki, "do you have a coin? Something small and shiny?"

The sub-machine gun wielding woman raised an eyebrow and gently fished her pocket, "not much hard currency around here, but..." She froze, and felt in panic around her surprisingly empty pocket. She opened it up and peered inside, yelling irritably, "_where's my purse!?_"

"Behind your ear, silly!" Aang reached over to the side of Suki's head and a small green pouch spontaneously appeared in his stretched hand.

"_WOOO! AWOOO! AWAGHarghablagablgl... _" a bystander found himself overcome with emotion and collapsed in a puddle of foam. Suki's attention snapped to Aang and the pouch in the corner of her eye. Her gloved hand snatched the purse away and pointed an accusing finger at the bald-headed boy.

"_That _...was not so impressive," Suki decided.

"That's what _I _told him!" Sokka chimed.

"Hey!" Suki swung her accusing finger in the militiaman's direction, "you're still on probation, kiddo."

"'Kiddo'?" Sokka scoffed, folding his arms, "I'm as old as you are, y'know."

"'till you start actin' yer age, I _heavily _dispute that," Suki grinned mischievously.

"What about us?" Katara stepped forward to ask, since talk of 'probation' was still being bandied about.

"Yeah, you're okay," Suki didn't hesitate, pocketing the purse and waving away her doubts, "you're not stupid."

The soldier waved away her compatriots, and made strong indications that the crowd disperse for the night. The soldiers diligently obeyed orders, while the crowd took longer to drift away, particularly since the foaming mouth guy's drool had attached him to the gravel. Suki relaxed and put her hands on her hips.

"Let's take a walk. I'll tell you more about this place. I'd say you've got a lot to fill in too," Suki shouldered her weapon and invited the others along, her manner hinting at a fun-loving, care-free side that was only just becoming apparent, "I never caught your name."

"Aang," the monk smiled, "Aang Anil."

* * *

"No, I wanted the _pink _dress! The _pink _dress! This one's _purple_! It's no use to me!" the stodgy, white moustachioed, stick-thin old General Sonobe whispered harshly into his phone, glancing furtively from door to door in the paranoid belief that someone _had _to be listening in, "no, I don't care if you don't have it in that size! _Make _one that's in that size!"

"Aw, but the purple brings out your eyes so _well_!" Zhao interrupted, bursting through the doors of the office flanked by a duo of Kempeitai and the swagger of someone who knows he's won the chess match even before the first piece is played. Sonobe bolted upright and slammed the receiver, alternating violently between stunned shock and immobilising rage.

"_You!_" the Commander of Eleventh Army cursed Zhao's existence, his hand gripping his sword unstably, "you've got some nerve showing your face around here, Kokami! I'll see your head for this!"

"Sir, I am afraid you'll have to come with us," the well-chiselled Kempei to the left of Zhao stated professionally, gripping his own sword.

The General's rage faded into senile confusion as his gaze wandered confoundedly from face to face, "what's the meaning of this?"

"We wish to enquire why you haven't vacated Lieutenant General Kokami's office," the other, equally well-chiselled Kempei to Zhao's right carried on the sentence uninterrupted, "this is the office of the Commander of Eleventh Army, is it not?"

"_Lieutenant General!? _" Sonobe spat the words as he strongly implied Zhao wasn't good enough for the title, and _certainly _wasn't good enough for the office. It was a _very nice _office. Wooden panelling throughout, a stacked bookcase of all the major classics, an aged globe of the world in the corner, a massive laminated pine study desk and an excellent view of the hills surrounding the Kwantung Army headquarters at Hsinking, just south of Harbin. He certainly wasn't letting it go without a challenge, and jabbed, "now look here, you upstart! You might be the same rank as me, but that doesn't entitle you to treat me like some kind of verruca! Now if you-"

"Oh, Mr. General!" a sly young girl popped her head round the door and playfully tilted her bangs to one side, "you don't know where I can find some nail polish do you? I'm running a bit low and I don't want to bother my friends with useless requests."

"Oh..." General Sonobe stopped his rant in its tracks and mouthed like a fish while he collected his response, "...um...down the corridor to the east wing, third door on your left, I believe there's some special stocks there. The door's locked, mind, so..."

"Oh, that won't be a problem. Thanks!" Azula smiled a Hyena's smile and bounced off out of sight.

General Zhao, still grinning, raised his eyebrows expectantly. General Sonobe was momentarily left lost for words, like a deer in headlights. He breathed deeply before pursing his lips and smiling in defeat, pointing at the desk and saying, "I'll just...pack my things..."

* * *

"...then the lid swung open, and instead of being dragged out by a mentally unstable Japanese officer, we were dragged out by you," Katara finished, taking another much-needed sip of late night tea, "and you know the rest."

"Incredible," Suki remarked, sipping her own cup. The group was sitting around a plain, brutally chiselled wooden table in Suki's home, after their brief tour of the town. It was at the very end of the day, so they didn't see much before light disappeared entirely, but thankfully there wasn't much to see. They discovered that the town was called Bai Shan (due to some local legend about a giant eel in the nearby river…Aang forgot the details), had a population just shy of a thousand or so and, in contrast to Usutai, it sat at the foot of a large depression, which helped keep the area lush and vegetative. Also in contrast to Usutai, Bai Shan was isolated by human choice rather than by geography.

"I think this place is incredible!" Aang interrupted, so excited that he hadn't even touched his tea, preferring instead to absent-mindedly feed Momo a never-ending series of nuts, "how do you manage to get by all on your own?"

"To be fair, it's not exactly 'on our own'," Suki admitted, her lush crop of hair breathing after being cooped up under her soldier's beret, "the Communists have a secret support network set up, and we're one of the beneficiaries so long as we send men. It's kinda become our chief export. We try ta keep it under wraps so we don't attract unwanted attention."

"And the Japanese leave you alone?" Katara remarked, "I'm still not sure how that works."

"The Kwantung Army doesn't have the manpower to hold down the area it controls, so it either rules by proxy or makes deals with the locals," Suki shrugged and leaned back in her seat, looking surprisingly comfortable despite her soldiers' gear, "we got an agreement with the Japanese. They don't bother us an' we don't bother them. All our support is under the radar. The women in uniform is ta keep up appearances."

"I see…" Katara looked down and took another sip, hiding her discomfort with all this neutrality business, "so what made you go it alone?"

"It wasn't by choice, I can tell you that much," Suki said wearily, sipping her tea to relax herself, "Bai Shan's had to fend for itself ever since the last Emperor fell. Not that we miss him or anything...though it's pretty hard to miss him since he's just next door and everything. But once the government collapsed we had to make do on our own. We've been playing off warlords, Chiang Kai-Shek and foreign invaders off against each other for decades. I think we've got pretty good at it, personally. After all, it's not like there's anyone else to look out for us."

"...I think I know what that feels like," Katara sipped the last of the tea to calm her thoughts and smacked her lips, "this is really nice tea." She held up the empty cup and smiled at the tea server, "oh, garçon? I believe I need a refill."

"The kettle's still boiling, you greedy little guttersnipe," Sokka moaned loudly as he turned up the paraffin stove. The militiaman swiped the cup from Katara's hand and slammed it on the dusty counter piled high with maps and half-open boxes of ammo. Suki's home was simple, but large and uncomfortable, though one couldn't tell that from the sheer volume of debris that littered the living quarters-cum-command centre. The cup clattered on the worktop as the kettle built up its ear-splitting whistle, and Sokka somehow managed to refill it with fresh tea _angrily_, "why am _I _making the tea, anyway!? It's _your _house!"

" These two've been okayed. _You_, though, are still a Prisoner of War," Suki sipped with a smug, self-satisfied expression, "an' so, you gotta do Prisoner of War type things, like forced labour."

Aang ran out of nuts without noticing, and offered his finger instead. Momo bit deeply, causing the boy monk to yelp quietly.

" This completely violates the Geneva Convention," Sokka slammed Katara's refilled cup on the table in protest, "when can I _stop _being a Prisoner of War?"

"When you stop being a jerk," Suki stated playfully, "so, basically, when the sun goes cold."

"Don'tcha think that's a bit soon?" Aang chortled, nursing his finger and pretending everything was fine. Just then, a curiosity visibly popped into his consciousness, and with things as they were, he realised this might be the only chance to settle it. He leaned in closer to ask the question that had been plaguing him for hours, "hey, is there _really _a giant eel in the river nearby?"

"What?" Suki was caught completely off-guard, "_no! _It's just a local legend! There're tons of those kinda stories!"

"Are you _suuure_?" Aang pressed, "I've seen some pretty weird stuff in my time. Once in Indonesia I came across this lizard, a 'Komodo Dragon,' who was really short, squat, pudgy and brown. I never thought a _dragon _would be so funny-lookin'."

"You know what? That's what gets me..." Suki put her cup to one side to speak her mind, "we're in an age of steam-ships, trains, cars, airplanes, I hear they're even talkin' 'bout _rocket packs. _And yet you...50 years ago...have travelled further than all of us."

"Well...I haven't been _that _far..." Aang diminished himself in apology, "just East Asia, really. I mean, it's not like I've ever been to Constantinople."

"Actually, it's Istanbul, not Constantinople," Suki pointed out.

For some reason, this caught Aang by surprise. He swirled the name around inside his mouth, "but 'Constantinople' sounds so _classy_. What'd they change it for?"

"Who knows?" Sokka had absent-mindedly made up another cup of tea and set it on the table to join in the geography lesson, "but for some reason, nowadays, it's Istanbul. Not Constantinople."

Suki cheekily snatched the steaming hot cup and told Aang with a straight face, "so if you've a date in Constantinople, she'll be waiting in Istanbul."

Sokka's mind jerked suddenly, and he concentrated an index finger and an open-mouthed gape at the female soldier sitting at the table. He tested, "so take me back to Constantinople..."

Suki's head turned, and her expression widened. She pointed her finger back up and gave the next bit of the secret password, "no, you can't go back to Constantinople..."

Sokka returned at a quicker tempo, "been a long time gone, Constantinople..."

Suki quickened the pace, "why did Constantinople get the works..."

And all together now for the finale, "_that's nobody's business but the Turks!_"

As Sokka and Suki stared at each other in utter surprise, Katara's perplexed head came crashing down on the table, "oh, _god_. Shoot me now..."

Aang was confusedly aloof from all this, and eventually thrust his hands up in resignation, "me not getting anything is gonna be a running theme of this adventure, isn't it?"

* * *

The air whistled around the newly-promoted General's cap, and a mighty vessel of steel and steam rumbled underneath his feet. The view was glorious, a mighty torrent of dark greens and dark browns that blurred past him. The shadows loomed larger than the tiny pricks of light, but those slowly grew as the sun rose behind him like wind filling his sails. A blazing omen to his majesty, spurring him through the vast realm that might as well be his.

"The sun rises every morning, General," Azula reminded from her perch in the corner of the observation balcony, some distance ahead of the more heavily armoured observation point that sat atop the armoured train. Zhao's chest couldn't be puffed out much farther if it had been hooked up to a tire pump, while Azula was merely whimsical, effortlessly reading his thoughts, "I'd be wary of interpreting it as a sign of something."

"It's a sign if you make it a sign," Zhao beamed, glancing back from his commanding position with a delighted twinkle in his eye, "I believe that's one of the observations in your father's book?"

"Good, you've finally got to the preface," Azula gently mocked, "but you haven't won yet, Zhao. You've no idea where your quarry is, and you've lost track of my brother since he crossed the border. He's stolen a very significant march on you."

Zhao was almost perturbed enough to ask how she knew that, but thought better of it. Instead, he concentrated on the present, and looked ahead at his destination, "he can steal as much march as he wants from me. He's completely out of his league. The state his Unit was in when it entered Hailar is proof of that. The moment he finds my...'quarry', he'll inevitably mess up, and drive his prey away from him...and onto me."

"So you'll set yourself up in Beijing and wait for your target to come to you," Azula considered, "I'd say that's a rather imprecise strategy, myself."

"Who needs precision when you have the Eleventh Army?" Zhao closed his eyes and wafted in the intoxicating aroma of power that statement released, "and I know well who to thank for this opportunity, Miss Hinaga."

"Don't thank me," Azula added flippantly, "I'm not doing this for you."

"Then why...?" Zhao furrowed his brow and turned to address the precocious youth, only to find that he was the only person on the balcony. Rather startled, he marched over to the hatch and pulled it open with some effort. The General peered down into his control room...still in the process of being upgraded...and asked one of the new influx of staffers he brought on board, "soldier! Did Miss Hinaga retire to my office?"

"I...didn't see her come down, sir," the pasty new officer responded, pausing his clipboard scribbling to address his commander.

Zhao sagged, and nodded sagely to himself. Of course, he thought. How silly of him. _Of course _she'd disappear enigmatically without a trace. People like that didn't exit through the front door. They couldn't conceive of the existence of 'front doors', only 'obstacles in their path'. So he ordered the new officer, "carry on, Lieutenant...whatever your name is."

General Kokami shut the hatch door and decided to let the matter pass. It was of no consequence, as right now he had everything he needed. Status, authority and the power to make a momentous name for himself. He rubbed the new badge of rank sewn into his collar, the single star on a pure yellow background, the satisfying physical evidence that he wasn't only a few stars ahead of his rival, but an entire _level _above him. His shady back-room deals would continue to augment his authority, but today was the first day that he didn't need to rely on them. Today, he had stormed the hall of kings.

In either direction, the Great Wall stretched. At first a meagre line on the horizon, now it loomed as a mighty barrier to his progress, a block to his further advancement. A large section of the wall had been tunnelled out for trains to pass through, and after a brief smoke-filled darkness the wall was behind him, a speed bump so minor that to call it a 'barrier' was laughable. The rising sun burst from behind the wall to light his way into China itself, and Zhao's spirits rose. Becoming a king was only a stepping stone. Today, he was taking his first step to becoming a god.

* * *

Sokka and Suki stayed up late into the night talking about the virtues of swing, but Katara was just about ready to throw her head into the pillow after this nerve-racking day. They slept in a spare, abandoned cottage fitted with a bare majority of the simple comforts, but Aang couldn't get much sleep. His mind was still buzzing with possibilities, and as he'd discovered earlier that day, possibilities were remarkably fluid and terrifying things to contemplate.

Katara had an early night, and rose at the crack of dawn. Sleepy-eyed, it took a fair amount of patting of the thin bedsheets to realise Aang wasn't in them. Braving the cool morning air, the boy monk didn't prove hard to find, as she stepped out the cottage and looked at the high ridge along which a sliver of sunlight was gradually emerging. A bald-headed child was visible in silhouette, shining like a beacon compared to his surroundings. The sight was enough to gust away her fears, and she clambered up the side of the valley.

Aang was sat on the top of the ridge, watching the sunrise. He wasn't meditating, strangely, but instead just seemed to be gazing silently into middle distance, allowing Momo to enjoy the view from his shoulder. Katara wandered up carefully, happy to have a chance at some fresh air and a nice view after three straight days of being chased, shot at and hiding out in various forms of transportation. She wiped the lower rim of her long tunic and sat down on a rock next to him, sidling up.

Aang didn't seem interested in talking, so for a while she simply stared with him. The view was fantastic, with rolling grasslands as far as the eye could see, and other villages just visible in the distance, making the surrounding area many times more populous than Usutai's bare, uninhabited area. But eventually she felt a nagging need to fill the air with something, so she leaned back and noted whimsically, "hundreds of miles apart, in separate countries, both at the farthest edge of existence, and they _both _love Swing Jazz. What _are_ the chances?"

"Uhh...pretty high if you're looking for something to hook you to a place far away from people shooting at you," Aang pointed out, in more need of flippant conversation than he had realised.

" Wait, wait, let me get this straight..." Katara waved her hands in a 'time out' motion, "back then, in Harbin, when you were looking for strands of threads of ropes of the things that bind and define human beings, you managed to bring us _here_ because one of us had the same _musical taste _as someone here?"

"That's as good an explanation as any I can think of," Aang resigned, "I don't think we should do it that often."

"I'd have to agree..." Katara worried, "you seemed lost, and whenever you found yourself it seemed like you just came back from hell. It didn't look like you were fully in control of yourself."

"I wasn't. And there's something else too..." Aang put a hand to the side of his head, while Momo helpfully patted the other side, "it's hard to explain, it's just this feeling that I've forgotten something, ever since I did...whatever it was I did."

"What do you mean?" Katara drew closer, her concern growing.

"It's a feeling...of...walls? Something lonely..." Aang concentrated hard, but even as he thought about it the niggling thought dispersed into an incomprehensible cloud. He shook it off with a hand-wave, "never mind. It's nothing. So what's the plan now?"

" The plan _now _is to rest up and figure out our next move," Katara informed the boy, "we'll be safe for a while, but we need to keep moving."

"Well...maybe a pause is what we need? We've been through a lot and everything, and these people aren't gonna turn us in," Aang reasoned, a smile breaking out across his face, "and after that stunt yesterday, everyone thinks I'm awesome. That's not a bad place to be."

"Don't let it get to your head," Katara warned, "you're no good to the world if you know nothing."

" I guess...I'll manage..." Aang shrugged playfully, focusing intensely on Katara, "I'll try not to blow us all up. _No promises_, but I'll do my best."

Katara laughed, and put a hand over her mouth to control herself. Aang couldn't help but stare. As much as the celibate monk tried to deny it, she was absolutely intoxicating. She recovered enough to remark, "trying not to blow me up. The most thoughtful thing a man can do." The thought triggered a pause in Katara as she scientifically studied that last statement, staring back at the town, "come to think of it...I don't think I've ever come across a man who didn't try to blow me up."

Aang's thoughts were topsy turvy, staring down at his sandals and swaying them this way and that in time with his head...a tidal motion that Momo participated in, and he was manifestly not thinking straight when he pointed out as casually as he could, "Haru didn't try to blow you up..." Aang realised what he was saying as soon as he said it, and the jolt he gave himself sent Momo reeling, "well! I mean...well. I...I...I guess guys trying to blow you up. That...well...that...eheh...that shows interest! Yeah! But Haru? Wasn't interested in blowing you up. Had no commitment. Terrible, terrible character flaw, I'd sa-"

Aang froze as he realised Katara was grinning at his discomfort with raised eyebrows. Pursing her lips, she remarked, "you know what? You're _adorable_."

She leaned over and planted a kiss on his forehead. Aang was taken aback at first, and gradually melted into a self-satisfied haze that _he _had been _kissed _by a _girl_. It was through this haze of glorious contentment, drunken on ambrosia, that the heart-rending realisation shot through that Katara had just called him _adorable_.

"_Hey!_ That's a _terrible _thing to say!" Aang protested, and spun around to confront Katara only to see that she was already halfway down the hillside, humming happily to herself. Scorned, he spun around and scowled at the ground in front of him, angry at himself for blowing it so spectacularly. Momo, seemingly noticing his human friend's unhappiness, darted off his shoulder and returned a second later with a pawful of nuts. Aang glanced at the gesture, but wasn't in the mood, uttering a non-committal "egh..."

A scatter of rocks drew his attention, and behind a boulder his ears picked up a squeaking whisper of cuss words...or at least words that would be considered 'cuss words' if you were seven. The monk called out, "you can come out, now. Don't worry, I won't be mad. I'm a Buddhist! Buddhists don't get mad!"

Out from behind the boulder, a heavily apologetic Chinese girl, no older than eight or nine, stepped into view. She fumbled her hands and spoke haltingly, "sorry, mister...I just...well...I...I...I saw you...yesterday I saw you do those things...I mean...those things where you made the water go backwards...I was wondering if..."

" I'm really sorry. I can't do it _on request _if that's what you want," Aang excused himself to the girl.

"Well...uh...well..." the girl said 'well' and looked at the ground a lot, "that other thing you did with the big lady Suki's purse was really cool too..."

" Really?" Aang was perplexed. It'd been ages since he was asked to do magic tricks, "well..._sure! _I'd love to show you some..."

Aang looked down the slope of the hill, merging with the grassland that stretched to the horizon, and had a better idea.

"Althooouuugh..." Aang formulated a plan, "you see those grasses down there? How 'bout we play a game in them?"

"But mama told me not to go to the grasslands alone..." the girl fretted.

" You won't be alone! You'll have the master of all time and space to supervise you!" Aang held out an arm and invited her over, "c'mon! I'll give you a ride down! Think of me as a _tiger_." The monk got on all fours and playfully clawed, "I can _really _fierce, but right now I'm cute 'n cuddly and want to give you a ride on my back. But once we get to the bottom, you'll turn into a wildebeest. So you'd better _run_."

The girl smiled so widely it looked like the bottom half of her face was falling off. Gasping in excitement, she yelled loudly behind her, "_hey! Aangy's gonna give us a ride down the hill!_"

Out of the rocks and boulders emerged an army of beaming kids, mostly girls, who ran out from cover and rushed the prone and eminently surprised Aang. The kids flung themselves over him and the bald-headed boy reeled back, absolutely delighted. As Momo scurried rapidly to avoid the scrum, Aang and all the other kids laughed their faces off.

* * *

Katara looked up at the scrum of kiddies and smiled knowingly. The boy had a magical effect on the people around him, and Katara imagined if he could spread it the world over. It was a heart-warming thing to imagine.

But doubts crowded, and she looked aside from her place in a small gap of the ridge to look at the quiet and sleepy town cut off from the rest of the world, and the unspoilt greenscape beyond the hills that were overlooked and protected by the sun pushing distance between itself and the horizon. It didn't look like it had ever been touched. It didn't look like anything could touch it. It was impossible to imagine this comforting, coddling, impenetrable curtain of silent contentment and satisfaction with life ever being violated. It looked..._safe_.

The rising sun brought a different message: it only ever _looked _safe.

END OF PART TWO

**To Be Continued…**

_**Avatar: The Last Airbender **_Concept and Characters © Nickelodeon 2005-08

* * *

**Author's Note: **This chapter just grew and grew. It's actually been ready for more than a week, but a hefty format bomb kept it from being proof-read right until yesterday. I checked, and it's been close to two months since Part 2, Chapter 9. I don't have to tell you this is _unacceptable _and must be _punished severely_.

Only thing is, I think it's only going to get worse. Besides the general awfulness of the job I'm in, I've also signed up to NaNoWriMo. If you've heard of it, then your solemn duty must be to talk me out of it as sternly as possible. However, this isn't just an on-the-whim thing. I'm writing to _win_. I've got a premise, a strong central character and a good overarching theme to hold it together. It will require bunking up on modernist art movements and a week-long trip to Prague. Even if I weren't writing, I'd take a week-long trip to Prague. I need a damned holiday.

I'll try my best to keep this story updated. I've started a few paragraphs of Part 3, and see where it leads. I'm not abandoning _another _story. I'm sticking this out even if it kills me.

Thanks to Assault Sloth for the proof-read, input, and informative discussion. Read his stuff. Evening y'all.


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